with urgency but not with haste
by paradisdesbilles
Summary: Collection of Captain Swan drabbles
1. lend me your hand

"That's so weird."

"I know."

"Like _weird_ weird."

"I _know_."

Both of them are too fascinated by the situation to notice they sound like a broken record – in any other moment, one would have made fun of the other long ago. They just keep staring at it, eyes wide and mouth open. Emma's fingers run on his skin, making him shiver at the tickling touch, as she turns and return the hand in hers, like she can't believe it to be true, like she needs to keep a physical contact between them to believe it. He flexes his fingers, as to prove everything works perfectly, bringing another "_so_ weird" to her lips. She frowns, obviously still confused, as she pokes his palm, and it has at least the merit of making him chuckle a bit.

"And he asked you nothing in return? No 'magic always comes with a price' bullshit?"

"No. He just said it was for bringing his son back alive and then just… _poofed_ it back."

"_So weird_."

"Stop saying that."

But she simply can't because it's a hand! Gold just magically attached a hand back to its arm, functioning and all. Emma has been near magic for quite some time by now, has magic _in her_, but that… that's just too much. That's a thing of science fiction, not of fairytales, and her mind can't wrap around the idea that the pirate has his hand back like nothing ever happened, like it wasn't cut from the wrist centuries ago. She needs a break because this, whatever it is, is a thing of nightmare, not magic. (And then she remembers the most qualified doctor in town is Victor Frankenstein and she just wants to drink herself to oblivion.) She brushes her fingers against his knuckles, looking for the trick, but nothing comes. Not even when she traces the thin white scar around his wrist, and he chuckles lightly, obviously making fun of her.

"Imagine all the things you can do now that you have your hand back!" When he doesn't answer, her eyes travel from his hand to his face, only to find him raising an eyebrow in a very provocative way, leaving no doubt to the thought he holds right now, to the innuendo ready to escape his lips. "Oh, shut up!"

He only laughs as a reply, taking back his hand to grab the glass next to him and take a long deliberate sip. She can't stop staring at the hand, which makes him smirk. He does in on purpose then, playing with the saltshaker, taping his index against the bar counter in rhythm with the music, scratching his nose. Her eyes never leave him, and the insufferable smirk only grows bigger.

"Obsession much, Swan?"

She shakes her head and looks back at his face with a small smile of hers. "Looks like we'll need to find you a new nickname then."

"Or, you know, we could use my name, for a change." She raises an eyebrow at him. "Because I do have a name, you know."

"I'm aware of that, _Killian_."

The smug smirk turns into something else, softer and more honest. He raises his hands – both his hands – to her face, fingers brushing her cheeks, and for a moment she believes him to be bold enough to lean and kiss her. But Killian would never do such a thing, no without her permission, that much she knows. Instead, he toys with her hair, wrapping a long strand around his finger before putting it behind her ear. He can't keep his hand to himself now that he's started, brushing his knuckles against he cheekbones, tapping her nose (she twitches it in a rabbit and he laughs), playing with her hair again. They barely register Ruby's loud sigh, telling them _to get a room, seriously, like right now_.


	2. ahoy, mates

"Do you have a hat?" Killian's eyes widen at Henry's question, leaving him speechless for a few seconds. "You know. Big, black, fluffy red feather."

"No?"

"A eye-patch maybe? A bandana? … Peg leg?"

Killian turns to Emma with a vague hand gesture to her son, because Henry may be eccentric most of the time but this, this is plain _weird_. And he may not be from this realm but Killian is not an idiot so he knows when he's made fun of. Henry's serious face makes it all the more confusing. But of course, Emma only raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and he knows something is up, something is _wrong_. She shrugs, innocence turned woman – or so she wants him to think, sneaky little thing that she is. He barely has time to frown, though, as she takes him by the arm and flashes him _the smile_, the one that makes him dizzy and weightless and damn that woman.

"Come on, let's go." Then, with an amused look to her son, "trust me, we won't need the hat."

He has no idea where they're going, just that it involves her car and some bonding time together. Not that he minds, really, because he likes the lad and every hour spent with Emma is an hour he can only cherish, but his stomach is in knots. Something is up and he doesn't know what and it's driving him crazy. It takes them a good half an hour before Emma parks the Bug in front of a building he's familiar with – the mall – because they've already been there a few weeks ago when she'd tried to convince him it was finally time to adopt the local fashion. He had outright refused, thank you very much. Still, she wouldn't be mean enough to try again and drag him into every shop all afternoon long, especially not with the lad – especially not with that infuriating little smile of hers. He follows her out of the car and inside the building, ignoring Henry chuckling like a loon. Weird, the lad is just weird – obviously takes after his paternal side. (Not that there was anything wrong with Milah, mind you. He totally takes after the male genes.)

When Emma stops, it's in front of a shop he's not familiar with but Killian understands rather quickly that it's not indeed a shop. It's for food. And Emma finally gets rid of her falsely innocent look, her grin matching Henry and _lunatics, I'm surrounded by lunatics_.

"Why won't you and Henry buy us a dozen doughnuts, huh?"

Killian is just so bloody confused by now that he can only nod as he makes his way to the counter. Only when he's facing the seller does he realise she didn't give him any of those little pieces of paper they call money. He tries to turn and look at her but she's nowhere to be seen and Henry pokes him in the ribs, forcing him to focus back on the seller.

"Hey, mate…"

He barely registers Henry's gleeful "ahoy!" next to him because the teenager in front of him just freezes, eyes wide and mouth open. He examines Killian's clothes and, damn, he knew it, he should have listened to Emma and buy those new clothes when he could. "Dude, are you for real?" Killian glances at Henry who, always helpful, just bursts into laughter. "Like, I've seen a lot of costumes today but yours just looks so real. The hook and all! Are you one of those stylist guys or something?"

He's speaking English, Killian is quite sure of that, and yet not a single word coming out of his mouth makes sense. Nor does the fact that they end with a dozen free pastries, Henry looking proud as a peacock. Emma appears out of nowhere, equally smug, plastic bag in hand.

"I knew you'd succeed!" She high-fives Henry and _please would someone tells him what is going on_. His sheer confusion may be readable on his face, and she may take pity in him for half a second here, because she offers him a peck on the lips and an explanation. Talk like a pirate day. Well, still doesn't make any sense, reinforces his idea that people in this realm are just plain crazy, but it's good to know.

On the way back to Storybrook, Henry starts living up to the day's celebrations, punctuating every sentence with an "arhhh" and doing a very bad impersonation of his accent. Things go even craziest when they stop by the Jolly Roger to steal some of his clothes, too big for Henry, too bloody tempting on Emma's body. Only then do they go back to the apartment to stuff themselves with doughnuts and watch the DVDs Emma bought – all about pirates, of course.

All in all, Killian has to admit the day isn't that bad. They watch Peter Pan because Emma wants to make fun of his cartoon counterpart and he get his revenge by teaching Henry as many pirate insults as he remembers. Jack Sparrow just killed Barbossa when David comes back from work – he barely needs five seconds to understand what's going on. "Ahoy, mates!" he says with a grin, stealing the half doughnut Killian is holding.

The pirate shoots him a deadly glare. "I bloody hate you right now."


	3. lost girl

He doesn't hear her coming, doesn't hear the footsteps on the deck. He comes out of his cabin with the idea of checking on provisions, something he postponed after coming back from Neverland, and she's just _here_. In that damn red coat of hers, hair falling in curls around her face, hugging her chest tightly. Her eyes meet his, blue against green, bottom lip trembling even so lightly – he doesn't miss it, though, neither does he the look of desperation in her eyes. The eyes of a lost girl.

"Emma?"

Her jaw tightens – trying to look tough, to look strong. His beautiful stubborn Emma, always fighting, never letting the mask drop. It doesn't work with him – never has – and he comes near her careful, as not to frighten her like a doe you come across in the forest. She doesn't move, not even when he brushes his hand against her arm, simply holding his gaze.

"Emma, love, what's going on?"

"Mary Margaret…" He quickly glances at the town behind her shoulder, already fearing the worst – those royals and their habit of running into problems, seriously. Emma's broken voice is enough for him to focus back on her face, though. "She's – she's pregnant."

Oh…

_Oh_.

"Come here." He doesn't wait for a reply before wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, with a kiss on the top of her head. She doesn't fight it nor doesn't she react for a while until, slowly, delicately, she snuggles against him and hugs him back, arms between his coat and his body. She sighs in his neck, hot breath bringing shivers down his spine and having his heart drop in his stomach. Another hug, a few weeks before, comes back to his mind, so different yet so similar – affectionate and reassuring, comforting and _I have your back, always_. She sniffs but he pretends not to notice because he knows her, knows she doesn't want him to think she's anything but strong even when seeking solace in his arms.

When she finally breaks the hug, it's to look at him in the eyes, as if she can read his soul, as if he holds the answers to the universe. He can't help it, he brushes his nose against hers – he's never been one for displays of affection and neither is she, but it just feels right to do so right now. His heart swells a bit when she fights back a smile.

"Despite what you think, they're not replacing you."

She closes her eyes, braces herself against his words, but she needs to hear it. Needs to know that she is loved, that her parents care about her, that siblings are not the end of the world. Maybe he's not one to talk, as he was the youngest, but he remembers jealousy and fighting for their mother's affections, just as he remembers whispers and shared secrets.

"I know," she replies, weakly. "I'm just… not good at sharing?"

"Really? I never noticed." She doesn't take offence in his words and low chuckle, especially not when he holds her against him again. Instead, she leans her forehead against his chest, shaking her head slightly and chuckling too. It isn't the most cheerful sound there is, but it's enough for now.

"It's already hard enough with Henry and now… _that_. It's all too much. I don't want to see them with a baby and…"

Her voice breaks into another sob, holding him tightly like – like he's her _anchor_, preventing her from drifting. His heart breaks and grows bigger at the same time, breath catching in his chest. Somewhere along the way, she deemed him worthy of her trust – enough for him to be privy of something no one else is, enough for her to open her heart to him in ways she never did before.

"And witness what life you could have had with them if it wasn't for the curse?"

She doesn't move for a few seconds then nods against him. "And Henry… Henry is going to see it to and…"

"And think the same thing about you and him."

Not so long ago, she would have resented him for finishing her sentences so easily, for reading her mind like an open book. Now, she just nods for the second time, remaining silent, accepting his understanding of her. He puts his hand and hook on her shoulders to put so distance between them, to look at her in the eyes.

"What is done is done, love. You cannot change the past, only accept it. What you have with your parents is… different, to say the least. But it's good. It's real. Same thing with the lad. You have _something_, something_good_, cherish it." She doesn't reply, only stares at him, and he vaguely wonders if she's broken beyond repairs or only lost in her thoughts – he hopes for the latter. A grin curls his lips then. "And who knows, maybe you'll do the same thing to the lad in the near future."

She frowns for a second or two before the meaning behind his words falls on her and her eyes widen, mouths opening in a silent 'o' and, of course, punching him in the shoulder. "Shut up!"

He finally lets go of her to holds his hands in front of him with an innocent pout on his lips. "I never said I'd volunteer. Unless…" He adds a wink, laughs loudly when she punches him again, with a laugh of her own this time.

"You're insufferable."

"And still, I'm yet to see you disagree."

"I need a drink to go on with that conversation."

She walks to his cabin, he follows her close. "Still not disagreeing." Maybe she'll punch his jaw and not his shoulder this time, but he doesn't find it in him to care, not with that laugh of hers, with that sparkles with her eyes when she looks at him over her shoulder. She finds his bottle of rum almost too easily, takes a long gulp of it before looking back at him with her 'let's-have-a-serious-discussion' pout. "Thank you." Well, not that serious then.

He bows slightly. "That's what I'm here for."

"We both know it's for more than that."

"Aye." A grin appears on his lips as he pointedly looks at the bed in the corner of the room, then back at her and – is she blushing? "If we do it right, the babe will be born a mere few weeks after your mother's."

She's about to throw the bottle at his face, he's sure of it, he's a dead man and… "Okay."

"Excuse me?"

"Okay. Let's do this."

His eyes widen, ready to pop out of their sockets when she goes for the button of her jeans – only for her to burst into laughter right away. He groans, rubbing his hand against his face. "You'll be the death of me, lass."

She takes another sip of rum, proudly raising her eyes in what looks like provocation to him. He can't blame her, not really, not when he succeeded in lifting her spirits so quickly – the hugs, the words, his mere presence, he doesn't know but it worked, and it's all he cares about. The darkest part of him wants to believe she just needs someone, anyone, but he knows it to be false. He knows the power of his words on her, knows she wouldn't be laughing that easily with anybody else – wouldn't be that affected by anybody else. And gods does he love her, that beautiful stubborn woman who makes him needed just as much as he needs her, who takes and gives back in equal measures.

So maybe he invades her private place to snatch the bottle from her hand and drink. Maybe she licks her lips to have him choke on the rum. Maybe he brushes his fingers against her hips, she tugs on the bottom of his shirt, he puts his hand flat of her back to pull her to him. Maybe, maybe not.

All that matter is this moment, because it is _theirs_.

Because it is hers, he is hers, and she doesn't have to share with anyone.


	4. bouquet

"Hide me."

She swoops on him like a bird of prey, grateful for the first time of the night that he chose to sit in the far corner of the room, away from the crowd and the light. She may stand a chance. Killian's eyes grow wide at that surprising apparition, especially when she angles his body to hide her from the dance floor as best as she can – he doesn't protest, of course, but questions are written all over his face.

"Whom are you hiding from, my love?"

She doesn't respond at first, mostly because she guesses what his reaction would be if he knew she hides from Ruby – they've been getting along perfectly well since the day they officially met, out-sassing each other on a daily basis and joining forces to annoy her. She isn't exactly sure he'd keep protecting her from his new best friend, the prick. So, instead, she forces him to move to his left, making sure she can't be seen. He has only moved once this the beginning of the night, when she forced him to dance with him, so she's positively sure people won't know where to look for him. At least, she hopes so.

"All right. _What_ are you hiding from, then?"

"The bouquet toss," she replies, gritting her teeth. He, of course, has no idea what's she talking about. "The bride tosses to bouquet to a crowd of single women and whoever catches it is said to be the next to get married. Hence, the hiding."

He is at loss for a moment, mouth open in wonder, and she can almost hear what he told her earlier that day, _in the Enchanted Forest, we drink and we laugh and we dance. No need for all that useless extravagance_. She could only agree with him because, damn, some of those traditions are plain stupid and useless and she could do without a bouquet toss, thank you very much.

"Don't you –"

He doesn't have time to finish the question – and she perfectly _knows_ what he wanted to ask – because a yelled "Emma!" startles them both. She grabs Killian's arm at the same moment Ruby grabs hers. "Come on, Emma! You _have_ to do it!"

"Nope, not single, no need."

She must be grasping his arm so tight it hurts by know; she doesn't find it in herself to care.

"Couple doesn't mean married, you still count." She has somewhat underestimated Ruby's strength – damn the wolf – because she still manages to drag her away, feet sliding on the floor. The brunette even turns her head to stare at Killian. "And you, mister, need to join the bachelors."

He does as she says without a question, the traitor.

Emma suddenly finds herself stuck between Ruby and Ariel – who's already found her true love, let her catch the bouquet for heaven's sake – with a dozen other women she doesn't know. Ella and Snow watch from afar, not even hiding their amused grins. Traitors too.

Of course, because fate is not on her side today, Belle all but throws the bouquet at her face, and she has no other choice than to grab it before it hits her rather painfully. She freezes, glaring at the damn object like it's the source of all her problems – right now, it really is – and ignoring the other girls cheering around her.

When she looks up, it's to meet Killian's eyes, unable to look away. She reads it all on his face, the surprise and the amusement and, as much as he tries to hide it, the blatant hope. She wants to sigh but can't, wants to run away but can't. They miss how Rumplestitlskin takes Belle's garter off with his teeth. (Urg, gross.) Of course, the thing lands on Killian's shoulder with him barely noticing – fate and everything. He just keeps staring at her, ignoring the cheers from his own crowd of single males, then quickly glances at Snow.

(Somewhere along the line, during those thirty seconds of nothingness, she guesses what Killian is about to do. She also realises that she doesn't care, that she already knows the answer to the question he hasn't asked yet.)

In a matter of seconds he closes the distance between them, and she can only scream in surprise when he tosses her over his shoulder, hooked arm against her tights to keep her in place. Her yells turn into laughs at the ridicule of the situation, begging him to let her go because, gosh, they're making a scene in front of the whole town and he's going to regret this.

(She misses Snow taking her ring off to give it to him, misses David's nod of approval, misses the smiles and chuckles of everyone.)

"If you'll excuse us," Killian says with the smuggest voice she's ever heard coming from him, "we have better things to do than a dance."

He bows, the idiot actually bows with her on his shoulder, and leaves the room which, of course, finally allows her to face the others. She tries to beg David with a pout and imploring eyes, but laughs too much to keep a straight face more than two seconds.

"Father! A dangerous vile pirate is abducting me! Do something, father!"

"We'll start a search party if you're not back in an hour," is all he replies, and Killian bursts into laughter. She kicks him in the chest with her knee, for good measure.

(When they're out and alone, she doesn't wait for him to ask. She says yes right away.)


	5. come back to me

The sails flap in the morning wind, white again the blue of the sky, shining with the rising sun. She's a thing of beauty, the Jolly Roger. Killian always says that ships have personalities, but sometimes Emma really wants to believe this one is alive – she looks lively, almost excited, when she's getting ready to sail. And so does her captain. He jumps from deck to deck, barking his orders with a grin on his lips, watching as the Lost Boys – his new crew – hurry to obey. They all look so happy, this band of misfits getting ready for the adventure that awaits them.

"Nibs, secure the ropes. Tootles, go check our provisions, you lots ate all the chocolate last time. And could someone _please_ welcome the lady on board."

"Will you ever learn their real names?" she yells back at him while the one they call Curly, the adorable little one who made her promise she would bring them home with her, runs toward her with a big grin. He takes her hand to help her on board, and Emma can only roll her eyes.

(And, yes, it _is_ adorable, she'll admit that.)

He leads her to the helm, even if she knows the ship like the back of her hand, before going back to his work with one more smile to her. Playing along, Killian bows to her, one hand behind his back. When he looks up at her, though, it's with a wicked grin and sparkles in his eyes – you can take the pirate out of the sea but you can never take the sea out of the pirate.

"Your Highness."

"_Their names_, Killian."

"Aye. But it's easier that way. They don't mind, don't worry."

Indeed she's never seen happier orphans than those ones since Killian asked them to help on the Jolly Roger, a couple of months earlier – it's not the best place for kids, part of her wants to argue, but it's better than letting them wander around town aimlessly. They like it, being pirates and going on adventures. And, even if he hides it well, so does Killian, big softie that he is under all that leather.

He checks his compass, glances at the boys on the lower deck to make sure everyone is still alive and well – it is only a round trip to the Enchanted Forest for supplies, nothing they haven't done before, but one is never too careful – before looking back at Emma with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Are you only here to say goodbye or…?"

"No, actually. I wondered if you could deliver a message for me."

Both his eyebrows shoot up then, surprise painted all over his face, and she wonders for a second if he's going to reply that he's not her carrier pigeon, thank you very much. Instead, he seems to be thinking this through – probably wondering whom she wants to contact in the other realm – and thus doesn't notice the smile appearing on her lips.

"Aye, sure. What's the message?"

"If, out of hazard, you meet a dashing young naval officer, one with a stupid accent and eyes blue like the sea…" His breath catches in his throat, especially since she takes a step forward, finger brushing his chest. "Tell him…" Even closer, noses touching, breathing each other's air. "Tell him the princess made her choice and waits for him in another realm."

She can feel his heart beating faster against her fingers, his Adam's apple going up and down as he chokes on some words, and a victorious grin curls her lips when he can't even bring himself to kiss her – not in front of the crew, that's bad form, she almost hears him think. Instead, with shaky fingers, he tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I'm fairly sure this naval officer of hers will do his best to come back as quickly as possible then. Wouldn't want her to miss him too much."

"Yeah, he does that." She steps back with her smuggest grin, fingers trailing on his chest for a little while longer, and he can only pout in response.

Turning her back to him, she's almost ready to climb down the stairs when he finally calls her name. She doesn't have time to react before his hook finds a loop of her jeans and, in one motion, she crashes against his chest, his lips already on hers. She forgets about the boys, about everything around them as she moans against his mouth, as he wraps his arms around her. Where they were pouring all their desire in the first kiss, they take their time now, slow and passionate, leaving her dizzy and breathless. Killian chuckles against her lips when it becomes rather obvious that some of the boys are catcalling them – and is one of them fake-gagging? urg, _children_ – but he lightly kisses her again, and again, lips like butterflies on hers.

"I'll miss you too, lass."

"Come back to me."

If he reads under the lines, if he understands that her words are more than those of a lover, he's kind enough not to point it out – he knows her, knows her fear of rejection, of loneliness, would never hurt her that way – hurt her at all.

"That I will, my love. That I will…"


	6. Ruby

Ruby prides herself in knowing everything there is to know about Storybrook, every gossip and whisper, every rumor and secret - it comes with working at the most popular place in town. She witnessed Snow White and Prince Charming falling in love all over again, saw Emma becoming a mother in front of a huge book and a hot cocoa, heard every rumor about the "handsome one with the bike". (She saw Snow White flirting with Frankenstein and, as much as she'd like to forget, the memories are burnt in her brain.)

So, really, it doesn't come as a surprise that Ruby is the first in line to notice what is happening between the Savior and her Pirate Captain.

.

He's been staying at the inn for a week now, renting the biggest room, using almost all the hot water on a daily basis and paying in gold – coins so old even Granny thought them fake at first, but real enough to make her forget about the cold water. He even offered Ruby a necklace, heavy crimson gem sparkling in the light, and she would have thought he was actually flirting with her if it wasn't for the lovesick puppy eyes he had every time Emma entered the dinner. He tries to make it subtle at first –_try_ is the key word – but you can't fool Ruby that easily.

Every morning, without failing, Emma comes to have her usual breakfast with Henry, then the two of them go for the bus stop around the corner. When she comes back, it's to sit next to Hook by the counter, ordering her second hot cocoa of the morning, and Ruby hands it to her with a knowing smile.

.

Killian Jones, she soon discovers, is a man of habits. He wakes up every day at seven, takes his tea with one sugar and milk – coffee or hot chocolate only once a week, no matter how many times Ruby tells him it's not a rare commodity in this realm and he can indeed afford it, and more than once a day if he wishes –, eats nothing but pancakes and, obvious, sits on the same stool every time. It becomes _his_ seat after less than a week.

Killian Jones is a man of habits, and he waits for Emma Swan every morning, only leaving the dinner after she does – to spend the day on his ship, most likely – and coming back by the time Henry is out of school. He goes back to his room when she goes back home and, hair still wet from his shower, order food – a different dish every day, but the same every week.

Ruby finds that psychotic at best, and stalking at worst, but she once saw how he perfectly aligned the cutlery on the table, and she just guesses he can't really help himself. She understands, in a way, the need for order around you when your life is a mess you can't put together.

And, anyway, she finds it cute, how his schedule was molded around Emma's to spend as much time with her as possible. Not many men would do that.

But it's Emma who impresses Ruby the most. Wild independent Emma Swan who doesn't take shit from anyone, who always tried her hardest not to show her affections for both Graham and August, whose walls are stronger than those of Snow's castle… She just accepts him, never questioning his presence by her side, never pushing him away.

(Ruby wonders what she missed, what happened in the Enchanted Forest, in Neverland, because _something_happened and it definitely wasn't in Storybrook or she'd know about it. It's frustrating at best. Not knowing.)

Hook is subtle in his public display of affection at first, but Ruby doesn't miss his foot brushing against Emma's or the way his fingers always happen to be next to hers on the counter. Sometimes, especially when the dinner is crowded, she pulls away, pretending to shift in her seat or to suddenly be thirsty; most of the time, Ruby isn't even sure she notices, reading her files or her newspaper or talking with him, all too naturally.

.

One day, finally breaking the habit, he leaves the dinner to meet with David. Not, of course, without leaning toward Emma to kiss her on the forehead, hand on her neck. It looks so natural that Emma doesn't even move at first, doesn't even react, just following him with her eyes as he goes out. And when she looks back in front of her, it's so find Ruby leaning on the counter with her wolfish grin and her best 'we need to talk, sister' look.

"So, you and Hook, huh?"

Emma's eyes widen and _no, girl, do not play dumb, not with me_. "Me and Hook what?"

"Come on, Emma! I want details! When did it start? Is he good in bed? Because one would think that without a hand, he's better with other…"

"Wow, wow, Ruby, stop! Killian and I aren't a – an _item_."

She spits the word like it's a slur but she's not fooling Ruby of all people. "Killian, huh?"

She can only grin at Emma's cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as she mumbles some nonsensical excuse before going back to her work with a pout. Ruby doesn't bring back the subject.

She doesn't need to.

.

It becomes more and more obvious along the line, much to Ruby's delight. He puts his arm on the back of Emma's chair from time to time, absent-mindedly drawing circles on her shoulder with one finger. He tucks locks of hair behind her ear when she reads, earning a warm smile in thanks. Sometimes, when she's still at the station, Henry meets him and they spend hours talking about the Enchanted Forest – the boy is always so eager to talk about everybody's backstory, and Hook fills in the black about this castle and that city, that creature. Ruby even sees them in the street once, sword-fighting like Henry used to do with his grandpa, laughing and yelling for hours.

Emma is wary at first – old habits die hard, Ruby thinks – but she gets used to it, eventually. Leaning against Hook's shoulder, stealing his fries with a wicked grin, always seeking his advice when she needs someone's opinion on something. She even folded her ankles on Hook's lap when she read some files and, once, Ruby catches her playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, the pirate almost purring like a kitten.

Not an item, her ass.

.

Ruby wakes up one morning to ten inches of snow, covering every bench and every car, leaving the streets empty of its inhabitants, turning Storybrook into a winter wonderland – it reminds her of home, of riding in large empty fields and drinking Granny's mushroom soup by the fire. She sighs happily at first, smile on her lips, until she realizes she'll have to clear the snow from the terrace.

It's a very quiet day at the dinner, only a few people brave enough to go outside while the snow is still falling – the children don't seem to have this problem, running around the streets like lunatics and basically having the time of their life.

It's well in the afternoon when Killian and Emma stumble into the dinner, snow in their hair and on their clothes, laughing and grinning like the fools they are, his arm wrapped around her waist.

"Hot chocolates and waffles, please, my lady wolf!" he asks her with that big goofy grin of his and Ruby can only smile back, even with an eye roll at the pet name.

They wait until she's in the kitchen, but she sees them through the little window between the rooms – how Emma tiptoes to kiss him, chuckling under her breath when he playfully brushes his nose against her cheek several times. It would almost make Ruby gag at how horribly sweet they are – and no, she's not jealous, whatever – but mostly she wonders if they _know_, if they're aware of what they have.

True love in the land without magic.

.

When they (finally) make it official, almost a year after Neverland, Ruby can only chuckle and "I knew it from day one".


	7. queen of the lost boys i

"Enough beds in that ship of yours for all of them?"

He tries, most likely fails, not to be bothered by the question, not to mind having all those little demons on his ship. They tried to kill him, and more than once, after all – but in all fairness he tried (and succeeded) to kill a few of them too. It's not his fault if he's wary of them, old habits dying hard. They're not the demons, not really, but still… He'll need more time to get used to having the Lost Boys on his side.

So he quickly looks around, mentally counting them – bloody hell, how many of them did Pan steal through the years?

"Aye, I think so. The wee ones will probably have to share a bunk, though."

The answer seems to satisfy Emma, as she gives him her 'thank you' smile – the one that doesn't quite reach her eyes but isn't entirely fake either – before calling after the Lost Boys and leading them to the crew's cabin. Felix doesn't budge and keeps brooding on his spot, by the other lads follow her easily, yawning and rubbing their eyes. Killian has to focus on the wheel to stifle a smile at the way she lightly pushes them on the shoulder to walk, ruffling their hair a bit and smiling at them – Emma Swan, queen of the orphans.

He doesn't realise time has past until Charming and Snow go to bed too, and can only frown as he scans the deck – no trace of her. The Lost Boys wouldn't harm her, not on this ship, not when everyone can see, but Killian still worries about her, about what they're capable of doing. So he calls after Baelfire – no, _Neal_ – and asks him to steer the wheel for a bit and strides to the cabins as soon as the other man has his hands on the helm. He opens the door vigorously and –

– stops in his tracks immediately.

She puts her finger to her lips with a silent 'shush', raising her eyebrows as to challenge him to make a sound. But it's not the most surprising, no. Not when she's sitting on one of the bunk bed, her back against the wall and five Lost Boys curled up around her like kittens with their mama cat – the dozen or so others sleeping here and there in the room. The wee one, the one that almost begged her to take them with her, has his head in her lap, sleeping while she plays with his hair. The twins by her sides, each of them with his head leaning against her shoulder, a blond one with his back against her tight and one in his teenage years sitting on the floor against her legs. All asleep, all smiling despite the look of exhaustion on their little faces.

Killian can only bite his bottom lip not to grin at the scene in front of him as he leans against the doorframe, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow as a silent quip. She rolls her eyes. "They wanted a story…" she whispers, as if it explains everything. It does. She let Regina take care of Henry, but after days of looking for her son, the maternal instinct has to be strong – has to come out in one way or another. And it came out with them, apparently.

"Emma Swan, mother of the Lost Boys," he whispers back, teasing.

She offers him a pout and a frown, as if daring him to go on with that thought – he's clever enough not to. Still, they make a striking image, and an adorable one at that. Killian would rather not focus on what it does to him because, really, now is not the time to let his mind wander on what a perfect mother she is and – too late. Especially when she points at the wee one on her lap and mouths "This one is so cute."

"It's not a puppy, you can't just decide to keep him!"

The sideway glance she gives him then is just priceless. They haven't decided what they're going to do of them once they arrive in Storybrook, because the boys most likely no longer have families of their own and they can't just let them alone in town and hope for the best… But taking care of them all at the same time? This is madness.

So he just rolls his eyes at her. "Tell me if you need help moving them around when you're done, all right?" She nods in reply, as if afraid talking too much will wake them up, and Killian stands straighter, ready to go back to the helm. "Goodnight, lost girl." It doesn't sound bad in his mouth, more pet name than insult, loving and gentle – that's why she smiles in response, her eyes sparkling in the darkness of the room.

"Goodnight, lost boy."

And oh, how right she is.


	8. queen of the lost boys ii

Going back to Storybrook is… overwhelming, to say the least. Of course, Emma had expected to see Belle impatiently waiting for Gold's return, but almost all the town is here, cheering them and being happy to see them again. It's all too much, tears pricking in her eyes. Hook tries to be his unfazed self, but she notices how he blushes when people cheer for him in thanks, how he hides his emotions by taking care of the Lost Boys – the pirate turned hero who refuse to let himself enjoy the moment.

Emma, on the other hand, has no other choice, so she accepts everybody's hugs without complaining – not even when seven dwarves decide a group hug is a good idea, with Snow laughing next to them. But soon enough, Hook is back at her side, his hand brushing against her elbow as he nods toward Granny and she replies by a nod of her own in silent agreement before calling after the old lady.

"What do you feel about some pro bono work for a day or two?" she asks with a pointed look toward the group of Lost Boys.

Grammy sighs and rolls her eyes, but Emma doesn't buy it. The inn has been empty for weeks and Ruby no longer needs being taken care of by now; it's written all over Granny's face that she will enjoy it.

.

"I want to buy the biggest house you have."

"Ms Swan, always to the point." Gold doesn't even raise his head from whatever he's reading, not even when she strides to his counter and leans against it, staring at him. After a long minute of purposefully ignoring her, he sighs and closes his accounts book to smile at her – she doesn't miss the sly edge to it. "Finally leaving the nest, I gather?"

"No. It's for the orphans."

"Oh, starting a family of your own."

She does her best not to sigh at his antics, knowing perfectly well his opinion on her relationship with his son – or, rather, lack of one. Thankfully, he doesn't comment any further as he takes another book from behind his counter and flips the pages – pictures after pictures of houses, apartments, and Emma remembers her first day in town, when Granny had told her he owns Storybrook. He stops on one page in particular and turns the book around for her to check.

"The only biggest than this one is the nunnery, dearie. Six rooms, three bathrooms, far enough from the centre so that your, hm, _boys_ won't bother anyone. And I hope you can afford it, because I ran out of good deed when I saved your father."

She rolls her eyes at that, even when taking a purse full of gold coins out of her bag. It falls on the counter in a tinkling sound – courtesy of the captain, of course.

"Hope you have nothing against the Enchanted Forest's currency."

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, Ms Swan."

.

She starts smiling the moment they set foot in the house and only stops once she falls asleep that evening, because the happiness written on the boys' faces is contagious. She doesn't even remember what it feels like, to finally have a house of your own after being an orphan for so long, doesn't even remember being happy about having a new family to stay with – so she understands them, and their hopes and dreams finally coming back as they run from one room to another. For the first time since Pan stole them, they have a chance to belong.

Everybody comes and gives a hand, David assembling beds in the bedrooms, Snow and Granny cleaning and Killian using even more gold to do the groceries with Ruby. By the end of the day, it starts to look like an actual home, and the hardest part for the boys is deciding who is going to share a room with whom. (Felix broods all day long because, well, he's Felix.) They make pasta for dinner and she has to read them all a story before going to bed – even the oldest ones – because they obvious cling to her like little ducklings to their mother.

She comes back the next morning expecting to find a mess, but it's quite the contrary. They all had breakfast and even did the dishes, now ready to start painting the walls. All ready to make it _their_ place. So she lets them do and opens her computer, logs into the police servers and starts checking the missing person files. Which will most likely take hours, days even, as they barely even remember their names, let alone their surnames and date of birth. Some of them should probably even be dead of old age by now, she gathers, which is all kinds of problematic in itself.

.

Emma only takes a break in her research when it's time for Henry to finish school and she spends the rest of the afternoon at Granny's with him. If he's jealous of her taking care of other kids, he doesn't show it, and she's relieved for that – the last thing she wants is for him to believe she's replacing him, because she knows the feeling all to well and it's not something her son will experiment, thank you very much.

She leaves him at Regina's for the night before going back to the orphans, only to find Killian tied up to a chair in the middle of the living room, ten of the boys around him. It takes a few seconds for Emma to realise what is going on, and she bursts into laughter.

"But look!" he almost yells, "Here's the Pirate Queen and she's going to save me. _Ah-ah_!"

One of them, Tootles maybe, doesn't miss a beat: "No, she's the Queen of the Lost Boys and she'll be the one to decide of your fate, pirate!"

They all turn to look at her expectantly. She rolls her eyes with a lazy flick of the wrist. "Let him go. _For now_. If he misbehaves again, we'll have him for lunch."

Cut to ten kids cheering her, even when freeing the pirate, who bows to her with all the sarcasm he can muster. But he doesn't hide his smile or the sparkle in his eyes, and maybe he's the king of the orphans after all.

.

She leans against the doorframe, watching as they're all getting ready for the night, when she feels Killian stepping behind her, warmth irradiating from his body. She looks at him above her shoulder and smiles at him, not minding when his hand finds her hip.

"A year ago I didn't even want to be a mother. And here I am, with twenty kids to take care of."

"Destiny is ironic that way, love." She goes for a snort but the noise dies in her throat when he lightly kisses her shoulder. "Not to mention you're good at this."

"Not so bad yourself, Jones."

She can almost feel his smile against her skin as he wraps both his arms around her waist, pulling her into his chest. She's not one to complain. "Have you found any of their families yet?"

"No. I'm afraid of what would happen then. 'Sorry, Peter Pan took your kid all those years ago but, hey! Here he is, not having aged a bit!' Way to create problems we don't need."

It's not the only reason, but she'd rather stick to this one. Killian can read her like an open book, after all, so he probably already knows what is left unsaid anyway – and if he does, he's enough of a gentleman not to speak about it. Instead he kisses her again, the neck this time, in an all-too-casual manner, like it's normal, like they're used to cuddling while their orphans get ready for bed.

(Part of her wonders when exactly they became all lovey-dovey with each other. Another part of her really doesn't care, it was just meant to happen anyway.)

Curly comes and stands in front of them, hugging a book to his chest with his most adorable pout – the little brat knows what it does to her – and Killian finally lets go of her, lightly pushing her forward. "The orphans call after you, Lost Girl."

.

Somewhat, they both fall asleep on the couch after hours of whispering to each other when the boys are all in bed. She wakes up in the middle of the night, and it takes her a few moments to understand why she's not in her bed and why there's a pirate pressed against her back, holding her like he's afraid she'll leave him. She cuddles a little more against him and goes back to sleep.

It's the early morning when she wakes up again, the sun starting to shine, Killian still behind her and one of the boys curled up against her chest – how the three of them manage to stay in the couch without falling over is a mystery to her.

She knows they can't keep going on that way, that she's _definitely not their mother _and can't afford to think about herself that way. Knows she'll have to talk with Killian eventually, to deal with what they are, together and to each other. But her mind is still clouded by sleep, she's in a handsome man's arm with an adorable kid against her and it's all so warm and lovely. So, for a few minutes, Emma pretends it's her life.

_Mother of the Lost Boys._


	9. scars

"Hey kid, have you seen my…" Emma raises her head, only to find an empty room, Henry already gone for school, and allows herself to sigh deeply. One hand to her ear, as if this simple gesture could suddenly make the earring appear – she had magic in her, after all, everything was possible – she looks on the kitchen counter and in the drawers after the missing piece of jewellery. No such luck. Neither is it on the table, or even in her room – she has checked already. "Where are you…?" And now she's talking to missing objects, bloody great.

With a last glance at the clock – great, she's going to be late on top of that – she makes her way to the bathroom, opening the door, and…

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry I – _oh my god_." She freezes in her tracks, one hand on the handle and mouth opened in surprise. Captain Hook in her bathroom, his back to her, with only a towel around his hip, does that to a person.

"Like what you see, darling?" He looks above his shoulder but his smirk falters at the look of sheer surprise on her face. "Are you all right?"

"You – your back," is all she manages to stutter.

He seems confused for a second, frowning, before her understands; he only shrugs. "Aye. Occupational hazard."

Whatever she's trying to say dies in her throat, eyes never leaving his back. When he finally turns around to face her, she moves forwards and, hand on his shoulder, makes him move so she can see his back again. Slowly, delicately, as she's afraid to hurt him, her fingers trace the thin white lines, from left shoulder to right hip. He shudders at the touch and only then does she realises how much she's trembling too.

"Are those…?"

"Aye."

Their voices are barely more than whispers, as if afraid speaking up will break the moment. He's been staying with them for a week now, barely surviving the cold winter in that boat of his, and Emma has been doing a great job at avoiding awkward situations involving nakedness so far – for a whole different reason. But that, _that_makes everything even more awkward and she wishes she'd knocked, wishes she'd never seen it…

"Kings aren't really fond of mutiny, love. I paid the price soon enough."

He turns around once again, one eyebrow raised in concern that she doesn't notice. Instead, her eyes trail on his body, on the several scars there. Some are tiny, others huge – results of sword fights without a doubt – but all look old, on his chest, his arms. Her fingers find his cheek, following the scar there, and he closes his eyes at her touch, takes her hand in his to kiss her knuckles.

"Don't worry about me, love. This life is no longer mine."

.

The first time they fall in bed together, it is lazy and passionate, tongues exploring and teeth grazing, like the slow burn of a forest fire. It is not, contrary to what she thought, hurried and sloppy like many a one-night stand – the difference between a good fuck and _making love_.

He lies on his belly afterwards, hugging the pillow under his head, content – almost smug – smile on his lips and lazy eyelids. Her fingers draw patterns on his tanned skin, writing love letters in invisible ink, marking him as hers with a simple touch. She leans against him and, slowly, delicately, traces his scars with her lips, trails of butterfly kisses on burning skin. He shudders, muscles tightening for a second, but doesn't move, letting her do as she wishes. She kisses them all, one by one, until pain is replaced by love, dark past replaced by their future.


	10. home

She doesn't remember it being that painful the first time – she doesn't remember it at all, to be honest. Crossing realms with the Jolly Roger has been smooth, but jumping into a portal is _not_. She's not even able to stretch out her arm and break her fall, face first on the ground with a groan of pain and a curse she would have never dared mutter in front of her son in any other scenario. The grass under her is soft, but the ground isn't, and her muscles are already screaming. Great. As if she could allow herself to be sore on top of everything else.

After long minutes, she finally kneels up. Henry is already on his feet – because, obviously, children have catlike reflexes and malleable bones, lucky them – and gasping at something behind her. Her guard back up immediately, she scrambles to her feet, hand already on her hip to grab her gun and…

A smile curls up her lips, almost reflectively, relief washing over her.

"Mum!" His voice is barely more than a whisper, as if speaking louder would break the moment, would bring them back to New York. "It's our castle."

He heart swells at the choice of words. She looks at it, in all its ancient glory despite the ruins, and it isn't home yet – but it could be. The life she could have had, the life that was stolen from her, the life she's forced into now. She would feel sick if it didn't feel especially _right_. They're all there, she knows they are, and most likely safe, and it just feels good. She could get used to it, as strange as the thought is.

(Bitterly, she remarks that she has no other choice. Going back to Storybrooke seems almost impossible now.)

So she wraps her arm around Henry's shoulders, pulls him to her in a hug and kisses the top of his head. "Yes. Yes, it is."

A laugh bubbles out of his chest, the most gleeful sound she's ever heard from him, before he breaks into a run toward the castle. She rolls her eyes, reflex from her cynical self, but follows him anyway, slower, hands in her pockets.

It takes them some time to reach the castle, but everything happens fast after that – Happy recognizing them from the top of his watchtower, yelling for everyone to know as someone else opens the door to them. The crowd gathering around them in the yard with happy cheers and rounds of applause. Snow and Charming breaking the crow to wrap them both into a tight hug – her father hand in her head, her mother's kisses on her cheeks and laughs tumbling out of her lips almost manically.

It only draws on her then.

She did it.

She broke the curse.

(Again.)

"I knew you'd find us. You'll always find us."

Snow's voice breaks in happy sobs, Charming's grin dazzling her for a second, and Emma can only reply, "Yeah, that I did."

It is followed by one more hug, Henry having somewhat found his way in his grandfather's arms, arms around his neck and legs around his waist. Then a few more hugs from others, mainly the dwarves and her breath catches in her throat at the strength they put into this, until Regina finally breaks the crowd to have Henry jump into her arms. And isn't that peculiar, seen the Evil Queen cry in relief.

Vaguely aware of Charming's hand on her lower back, Emma then takes time to look around her, scanning every face, every happy smile. They all look exhausted but well, and she wonders what happened on his realm while she was fighting her way through the portal – the tale will come soon enough. Still, her eyes go from one face to another, almost frantic, green searching blue in desperation.

She finds them – _him_ – finally, finally, standing in the background, as if not quite sure it is his place. But their eyes meet and his lighten up immediately, even if he stays where he is. She can almost feel the push her father gives her, but she doesn't need it, doesn't need anyone forcing her hand.

She breaks into a run, pushing people who are on her way, faster, faster, until her body crashes against his, until his arms wrap around her waist and her feet leave the ground. He spins around, never letting go of her, as she hides her face in his neck, hides her grin and hysterical laughs. (She _isn't_ sobbing and will punch anyone saying otherwise.) When her feet find the ground again, his back is to the crowd, in an attempt at intimacy, even if they both know most, if not all, eyes are on them. It's not enough for her to raise her head, though, and she squeezes him harder, until their body melt, until she can feel his heart beating against hers.

"You did it, love," he says finally, velvet voice against her ear, awe and admiration and _love_ bringing shivers to her spine.

"Did you doubt I would?"

He lets go of her then, if only to cup her cheek in his hand, and she drowns drowns _drowns_ in the ocean of his eyes. "Never." His thumb brushes the sensitive skin of her cheekbone as he grins at her, and maybe her heart misses a beat right then. Forehead leaning against forehead, breathing each other's air, they close their eyes in a contented silence.

Yes. The castle could be home.


	11. true love

The Enchanted Forest never had the natural cynicism of the Land Without Magic, creeping in your blood, numbing your happiness like the poison of the deadliest snake. And Killian Jones may have turned bitter and cold, Captain Hook may be sarcastic and heartless, but it doesn't change the fact he grew up on the Enchanted Forest's value and beliefs, and they always come back to slap him in the face, no matter how much he tries to deny them.

Values of honour and chivalry, of comradeship and selflessness – years in the Navy making him better than those knights everybody praises. He grew up with the familiar idea of love at first sight and _true love_. He knows it exists, but only ever associated it with kings and princesses and people with clothes that could feed a whole town. It is a concept as familiar as it is foreign to him, like some legend, some stories whispered in the dark of the night.

By the time he meets Milah, he's enough of a pirate to think, with a chuckle, that it is love at _first drink_. The woman holds her alcohol surprisingly well for a housewife and, before he knows it, he's falling head of heels for her and stealing her away from her life like the pirate he is. And even if Milah stays with him until the Dark Ones steals her back for good, Killian never really thinks about her like his true love – his lover, yes, surely, but true love, really? He no longer is the wee boy believing in happy endings, thank you very much.

He grows old and bitter and absolutely not ready for the storm that is Emma Swan.

They talk of her sometimes, the survivors, while he pretends to be a blacksmith between two secret meetings with Cora. They whisper of the Saviour who will bring its ancient glory back to the Enchanted Forest, who will save them all. They talk of her parents, Snow and Charming, with awe and devotion in their voice. They talk of the babe as a product of true love, and all he can think is that it's a lot of pressure to put on the poor and delicate creature that is a princess. He also thinks how stupid it is, to believe in such things – the product of true love, the Saviour of the realms. It all sounds like a pretty story in a book, and Killian knows they are only that – stories.

He's not ready for Emma Swan to turn his live upside down.

Maybe he hates her a bit for it, how easily it seems to be for her. She doesn't even need a smile or a flutter of the eyelashes. It just works, with her determination and the flame in her eyes – he would gladly burn in them, like a fly attracted to the light in the middle of the night. He would burn his wings and burn his soul for her – he wouldn't even think twice about it.

Killian Jones doesn't believe in love at first sight – and it sure as hell doesn't happen with her, because he's too focus on his mission to think about anything else at first – and Killian Jones doesn't believe in true love – but, damn, does that kiss in the Neverland jungle taste like it.

Someone had explained to him, once, a long time ago, how to boil a frog. You don't throw it in the hot water, because it will immediately jump out of it. Instead, you put it in cold water and heat it slowly, for it to get used to the hotness. It is a trick used by Captains thinking about battle plans, and he learnt it when he entered the Navy.

That's what happens with Emma Swan.

He doesn't realise he's deeply in love with her until the water is too hot, and then he's just drowning, unable to reach shore. He drowns, in her eyes, his heart melting, his soul reaching for hers in desperation. He drowns but doesn't die, and it just hurts. More than Milah – and, oh, does he hate himself for even thinking that – and more than the Queen squeezing his heart in his chest. Nothing compares to having Emma Swan next to him and only meeting her wall of insecurities and cynicism and lack of trust. He just wants to reach out to her and hold her and never let her go, just wants to prove he isn't like the others, he would never ever abandon her like they did. He'll stay, until she grows tired of him, stay by her side and love her love her _love her_.

(Things would have been different if she had grown up in the Enchanted Forest. She would have grown up waiting for her own Prince Charming, would have believed in all those lovely little values, and he would have been able to sweep her off her feet like the gentleman he is.)

(He wouldn't have stood a chance, like the pirate he is.)

"I still don't believe in it," she tells him once, as her parents are sickly adorable by the other side of the room at Granny's. It makes him gag a little, how bloody perfect they are for each other – he'd rather read his feelings as aversion than jealousy because, damn.

So instead he focuses on her, eyes bright and oh-so-green, so open and confused. Whatever she's thinking, she snaps out of it with a shake of the head and looks back at him instead with a weak smile.

"Even back in our land…" he ignores her little face when he says 'our' as it is supposed to include her, "some people have a hard time believing in true love too. It's a normal reaction."

"Do _you_ believe in true love? Love at first sight?"

He only shrugs at first, thinking of the sensitive thing to answer. Something crosses his mind then, grin curling up his lips, and he leans against their table, leans toward her until she does the same, as if sharing a secret.

"Want the truth, darling?" She nods, almost eagerly, and he winks at her. "I believe in love at first beanstalk."


	12. drawing

Let the hiatus fanfics begin!

* * *

Henry is a drawer.

It started the day he was able to hold a pen and scribble, way before he learnt how to write, and he never stopped ever since. Henry is a drawer and Emma is a collector, filling folders after folders of drawings. "It's to sell them when you're famous," she tells him with mischief in her eyes but they both know she would never get rid of them. Sometimes he mocks her because she won't let him hang anything on the fridge, and he call her a_ hipster_ for how clean and Ikea their apartment looks.

When her job finally allows her to do more than just pay the bills, she enrols him in an art class around the corner, just because. He's good at it and he likes it, letting those skills go to waste would be such a shame – and he's in New York, no better city than this one if he ever wants it to become more serious.

Henry draws and Henry has the biggest imagination there is. It is pure and raw, flooding from him like a never-ending ever-growing river. He dreams of knights in shining armour and princesses on top of towers, of horses and pirates ships. (She had to unsubscribe from HBO when she discovered he was watching Game of Thrones behind her back.) He dreams and he draws, the two inseparable.

It starts out really simple when he's four and it becomes more and more complex, detailed, over time. Most of the time they are the classic fairytales she used to read to him at night, but always with a twist – Little Red Riding Hood is the wolf, Snow White fights back, Pinocchio turns back into a puppet when he grows older. Emma has no idea where it's coming from, because it certainly isn't from her – or from Neal, for all it matters.

Her boy, the genius.

He's nine when he starts learning how to draw comic books, and it's the beginning of the end. His stories grow bigger and bigger – Emma grows concerned, worried that Henry locks himself in his own world. But he has friends and is happy, so that's all right. He just has too many ideas in that small brain of his.

She's cleaning the apartment when she finds his latest project – one he's been working on for a while, not showing her but not really hiding it from her either. It's just there, and Emma is just curious, so she goes through the pages, careful not to dirty them. There's a beanstalk, so she assumes it's a continuation of his first story about Jack – this one she loves, Jack being a woman, she just loves it – but there's also Captain Hook and a character she's never seen in his drawings before. Long blond hair, comfortable clothes – Rapunzel? No that can't be right, she's in another story.

"Hey kiddo, what's this?"

He raises his head from the cupboard he's cleaning, understands what is going on in a second. His cheeks turn pink immediately. _Interesting_. "That? Oh, nothing. Just, you know, something I'm working on and…"

Emma arches an eyebrow, always surprised of what a bad liar his son can be under pressure – she doesn't know whom he's taking that from either. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me."

But he does tell – Captain Hook and the Swan Princess, climbing the beanstalk to find a compass that will bring them back to their family. She frowns at the name, then smirks. "Is that supposed to be me?"

His cheeks grow redder, if it's even possible.

It's her cue to stop teasing him, even if she asks to read it once it's finished.

.

He offers her the finished story for her birthday – this kid is seriously the cutest, she won the DNA bingo with him – and so she reads it the very same night, in bed with a glass of red wine.

It's a complex story, his most complicated yet, a tale of love and trust and betrayal. It hits close to home in ways she doesn't understand, familiar yet foreign. It ends on a twist, of course, and she's left thirsty for more, for the sequel, the end of the story. She wants to know if the Captain and the Princess find their way back to each other, if they're finally able to confess their love to each other – she isn't exactly sure Henry was going for a love story, if he knows there's one, but it's here, between the lines. She wants the happy ending, fairytales always have happy endings. It's not fair for those two characters to be kept apart.

She'll ask him in the morning.

.

She dreams of blue eyes, crooked smiles and kisses in the jungle.

Perhaps Henry is finally rubbing on her.


	13. remember me

By the way, feel free to send me prompts if you want!

* * *

She sees him first as he gets out of the precinct, squinting at the bright sun after hours spent under the dim artificial light of the police office. He seems lost as ever, looking around him like he's looking for answers he doesn't have – that's when he sees her.

His whole face lightens up like a damn Christmas tree, creating a knot in her stomach. She's never seen someone looking so happy before. She's never made someone so happy before by just _being here_. There is a first for everything, apparently.

He jogs to her, his long coat doing stupid things around his legs with each step, until he's standing in front of her and grinning like the creepy fool his is – only, not as creepy as she thought him to be.

"You're here," he whispers, stating the obvious for himself more than anything. Like he needs a material proof that he's not dreaming, that she's not a figment of his imagination. _Who are you?_ she wants to ask. _Who are you to me?_

"Well, you were arrested because of me, it was only fair…"

"Good form indeed."

He says that and it sets her brain on fire with how familiar yet foreign it sounds. It's not the first time, it happens basically every time he opens that perfect mouth of his, yet she will probably never get used to it. It should trigger some memory but nothing comes, and it leaves her frustrated at best.

"Are you ready to trust me now?"

He takes the little purple vial from his pocket and holds it out to her. He doesn't understand what he's asking, doesn't understand the magnitude of trusting someone who is not Henry, of taking that little leap of faith needed to just drink the thing and see what happens.

(She's read Alice in Wonderland, she knows what happens, thank you very much.)

But there's something on his face that tells her he indeed knows how hard it is for her, knows he's asking the impossible. Like – like it happened before. _Who are you? _She tries to read it on his face but his bright, eager, eyes give away nothing if hope and fear and doubts all at once. And then he holds the vial higher for her to focus on, and she does, staring at it like it possesses all the answers she needs, like it could kill her with one drop. She doesn't know which one is the worst-case scenario.

"Please, love. Just drink it, it will all make sense then."

Nothing makes sense since he entered in her life. She wants things to make sense again, wants it so much it hurts. Her fingers are trembling when they wrap around the vial, and he gives her one encouraging nod. It's all she needs to pop the cork and bring it to her lips.

"Just half of it, the lad needs to drink it too."

She nods before taking a sip, and she closes her eyes. Nothing happens at first and then –

_A mobile with unicorns in a foreign bedroom with stuffed animals everywhere – a wooden wardrobe not quite Narnia but with the same power – prison and its grey walls and a baby crying and no I can't watch him no leave me alone – Boston and its skyline and a small apartment – a red dress and a bleu candle and a kid with big hopes – a sheriff's sad eyes and broken heart missing heart crumbling heart – Snow White Prince Charming beanstalk Pinocchio Mulan the Jolly Roger Hook Neverland Hook Tinkerbell Hook the Curse there's not a day that will go by…_

Emma's startled out of the memories so suddenly she stumbles back, dizzy and confused. She opens her eyes, slowly, carefully, green meeting an ocean of blue, and lets out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. He licks his bottom lip, nervously, and she remembers those lips on hers, not earlier but weeks, months ago in a dense jungle and…

"_Hook_."

Her voice sounds hoarse, but he doesn't care, beams at her like he's the happiest luckiest man on earth – she grins back, has a breathless laugh when his body crushes against her.

"Aye, love."

He wraps his arms around her, his good hand finding its way in her hair, and it takes her a few seconds to react before hugging him back. She holds on to him as if he were life itself, holds on to him in fear of letting him go, letting him disappear in a purple fog again. Not again, never again.

And then another thought invades her mind and another laugh bubbles out of her. "Did you try the true love's kiss on me?"

She's not sure which one is blushing more, and damn does that look good on him, but there's also a certain pride on his features, a blatant hope she decides not to ignore – not anymore. "It was worth a shot."

She stares into his eyes, both her hands coming to cradle his face, a shy little smile on her lips that he mirrors. And then he's kissing her, long and slow, and New York has never felt more like home.


	14. perfect

She meets him at work, and she may have never really been in a dating mood, not since Neal, not since everything, but there's something in his eyes that changes her mind. There are brown and dark, like the most delicious chocolate, and it does the trick – she refuses to date men with blue eyes, she doesn't know why, she just doesn't do it. He's funny and nice and totally doesn't freak out when she tells him she has an eleven year-old son – also, he's not married and perfectly healthy, mentally and physically, do you know how rare that is in this city?

He's the kind of man you could easily fall in love with.

Emma isn't in love with him.

She loves him, yes, that much is true. But there's something about him, _about all of them_, which is never quite right. Never the right voice, the right smile, the right smell. He's the closest to her perfect man, but not perfect enough, and it's frustrating at best. Because he's nice, and she doesn't want to break his heart by going all White Queen of Narnia on him. It isn't fair for him.

It isn't fair for her.

She wishes she was strong enough to break up with him – but his lips are soft and he warms her bed on the coldest nights and he invited Henry to see the Mets with him – the never-ending quarrel as she"s still into the Red Sox after all those years. He fits perfectly in that hole in her life that not even Henry can fill – well, not perfectly enough, but still. And, well, he's good in bed so there's that.

Still, Emma isn't in love with him.

And then, one day, out of nowhere, some leather-wearing stupidly-grinning pirate-looking dude knocks at her door and kisses her on the spot and it's as if the hole never even existed in the first place. That is, until she kicks him in the balls and she feels empty again. Scared, yet empty.

After she closes the door, her tongue finds her upper lip out of reflex – it tastes like salt and rum and something else, something familiar. His smell is all around her, leather and the sea – damn him, he really goes out of his way to perfect the pirate look, doesn't he? She shakes her head but all she can see is his eyes when she closes hers, the right perfect shade of Enchanted Forest sky and…

Wow.

Where did _that_ come from?

"That's okay, I knew it would happen anyway."

She's startled from her thoughts, raising her head from the straw she's playing with in a too colourful too expensive cocktail and focusing on her boyfriend's face instead. He smiles at her, sadly, and she feels bad already even if she doesn't know why.

"You're dumping me, right?"

Her eyes widen because, no, she only wanted to see him and forget about the craziness that is her life, if only for an hour and… did she? She isn't sure anymore. "I'm not… Chris, come on…"

"Henry told me about the other guy."

This man is an angel because he doesn't even look jealous. Just disappointed, and Emma wants to slap herself because he knew it would happen, he knew she would break up with him at some point and… this isn't fair. For anyone.

"Captain Sparrow wannabe?" she snorts. "The guy is a freak, seriously. Has been stalking me for days."

"And you've been different for days. _Better_."

She tries to find a comeback, but her mind remains blank. Of course she's been different, some weirdo is following around talking of Saviour and fairytales and beanstalks and… anyone in their right mind would be different after that.

But better?

(She doesn't want to think how right he feels, how her heart misses a beat at his smile, how his eyes seem to know so much about her. How obviously in love he is with her and how fine she somewhat is about it. It's all too weird.)

"I – I – Let's go home, okay?"

She throws a fifty on the table and stands up, no worried in the least about Chris following her – he does, as she's hailing a taxi with the firm idea to resolve whatever issue they're having in her bed. Which isn't an idea he seems to share, as he only leans to kiss her on the forehead, and it's awkward at best. There's sorrow in his eyes, and Emma can feel her whole body tense as she realises that, yes, it is indeed happening. And then he's gone, a yellow taxi stopping in from of her, but the driver's "where to?" is swallowed by a loud "Swan!"

She should be surprised, why isn't she surprised?

"Seriously?"

He offers her one of his stupid grin, and all she wants is to punch him because_how dare you_. Instead, she rolls her eyes, folds her arms against his chest. He doesn't look sorry at all, seems to be happier than usual – and it's a lot of happy for one person – so she wonders how much he saw. Stupid idiot pirate stalker.

"Can I talk to you? Around a drink, maybe?"

Those blue eyes of his swallow her, and she drowns in them, heart beating faster. She just got dumped and her stalker is attractive and she needs alcohol anyway and it just feels so right, so she says "just one drink" and heads back to the bar without a second look.

He follows her like an excited puppy and asks for two rums on the rocks. She stares. "How did you –"

He only winks.


	15. the big deal

**five times Killian knows Emma is the big deal and one time she does**

one.

_You are bloody brilliant. Amazing_. After a too long life of half-lies and guarded trust, the compliments tumble out of his mouth with a breathless laugh, like he can't quite help himself. Because she _is_ brilliant, defeating a giant with the sheer power of her words and she _is_ amazing in ways he doesn't fully understand.

The compass is unsurprisingly magnificent, a true work of art if he's ever seen one, but it's her eyes more than the gold he's drawn to. Going behind Cora's back was a folly, he knows, a dangerous whim – it no longer is, because the Swan girl is a precious ally and they can help each other, they can be a team – they're good at that, proved it not an hour ago.

She obviously doesn't agree.

"You chose her," Cora says, and he can't ignore the venom in her words, the threat on the tip of her tongue. He should care, really should, because Cora proved once that she could crush his heart in a second and he does quite like living, thank you very much. But he doesn't care, only thinks that he chose her but she didn't chose him back, and it shouldn't be painful because he's a man on a mission.

It is painful. And he only react to pain with violence and revenge, the only two emotions he allows himself to feel. She betrayed him and she will pay for it.

So why does he feel, for the first time in three century, that revenge might not be the answer?

* * *

two.

There's kissing and there's _kissing_.

This one obvious falls into the second category because, damn, he's been kissed plenty during his long years as a pirate (and his not so long years as a lieutenant) but never like that. Never like the earth stopped spinning for a moment, time standing still around them, air leaving his lungs only to be replaced by her her _her_. He can feel his cheek growing red, him, the pirate captain, blushing like a maiden with her first suitor, and doesn't even try to come up with an excuse about the warm weather. He accepts fully the effects she has on his body – on _every_ part of his body – and welcomes them like a blessing.

Because Emma Swan is kissing him like her life depends of it and, wow, he will manage to be in her good graces more often if it's the reward he gets every time. Especially with the small noises she makes and, afterwards, the way her nose brushes against his, how she seeks his lips for another kiss. Princesses shouldn't kiss like that, but she's no princess, she's more, will always be more.

_A one-time thing_. She'll always be stubborn too, with those walls of hers tallest than a castle's tower and stronger than a diamond. But it's too late already because he's falling for her, down down down, and there is nothing he can do about it, nothing she can do to stop him. He's been falling for a while now, only half-aware of it, and the landing is painful enough.

He's left alone with a sigh and fingers to his mouth, the ghost of her lips against his and the smell of her around him. Of all people, he had to fall for a princess, he had to fall for the Savior.

He had to reach for stars he will never be able to touch.

* * *

three.

He pinpoints the exact moment Emma has her memories back because it's also the moment his heart beats again for the first time in a year. Her eyes widen in surprised recognition as they land on him, so open he can read all the feelings in them. She whispers _Hook_ like a prayer, the word a caress on her tongue, and his heart skips yet another beat at the softness in her eyes, the shy smile on her lips.

He isn't quite sure who reaches for the other first, but then he's hugging her, one arm around her waist and his good hand in her golden hair. He breathes her in, failing not to be disappointed at the smell that is not hers – she smells like some soft floral perfume, not the mix of cinnamon and wilderness he'd come to associate to her, the very same smell coming to haunt his dreams. She hasn't been the same person for a year, it was to be expected.

Still, the softness of her hair against his fingers is the same, and he closes his eyes. The city is foreign to him, its noises deafening but, for the first time in a long time, Killian feels home.

"You came back for me," edges of the lost girl in her voice, breaking towards the end, as if she can't quite believe anyone would do that for her, would place her first – years and years of abandonment he will never be able to erase, no matter how hard he tries. So he only holds her tighter against him, nods in her neck.

"Aye, love. That I did." He will always come back for her, drawn to her like a mot to a candle, equally selfish and selfless. Selfish because he took her out of her happy ending, because he believes there is no happy ending for her if he is not part of it – selfish because he doesn't want to share her with anyone if it is the lad, and maybe her parents if they're lucky. Selfless because he would have never seeked her out if it wasn't for the emergency of the moment, for the threat of the witch – because he will always put her first, cherish her happiness above his, love her like no one has loved before.

She steps back only to look at him, green of the forest meeting blue of the sea, and her smile then – shy, honest, _loving_ – is enough to have him fall all over again. To have him hope all over again as he remembers what the Prince had told him once, about life being full of moments.

It's a moment if he's ever seen one and, without second thought, he reaches for her lips. She stills at first, but soon her arms lock around his neck and she's kissing him back. It isn't like Neverland, it is slow and tender, and Killian doesn't care that they're standing in the middle of a street for everyone to see, because Emma Swan is kissing him back like she means it. He pours everything he has in the kiss, love and desperation and hope, and maybe being in the middle of the street becomes a problem when she moans in the back of her throat.

"Let's go home," she breathes against his lips. He has no idea which home she's talking about but he'd gladly follow her anywhere.

* * *

four.

Most of the time, if not always, Killian tries not to think about life before Liam's death, before burning down the magical sail. He tries not to think about life as a sailor but, mostly, life as a member of the kingdom – his place low in the social hierarchy, not always having food on the table.

Sometimes, rarely, he can do nothing but think about it, because it comes back and slaps him in the face.

Hard.

She stands against the doorframe leading to the balcony, wearing nothing but a simple white dress. Her feet are bare and her hair falls down her back, glowing in the dim light of the full moon. She looks so peaceful, standing there in silence, eyes lost in the landscape in front of her. Breathtakingly beautiful, in that way specific to royals only – she might deny it all she wants, but it's in her blood, and it comes out sometimes, when they less expect it.

She's always been Emma, just Emma to him, refusing to label her as 'the Savior' – to reduce her to a single feature when she is so much more. But now, with her straight back and her perfect poise, now he sees Princess Emma in front of him.

She's a princess and he's the son of a fallen sailor, the son of a treacherous pirate. He doesn't stand a chance, it isn't his place, he has nothing to do here. She deserves better, deserves a prince who will dance with her while she wears elegant gowns and will woo her delicately. She deserves so much more than a pirate.

She might hear him finally, the shuffling sound of his feet, for she turns her head to look at him, a soft smile on her lips. "You're staring."

He has the decency to blush, like the awkward lieutenant he used to be, as he comes closer. "How couldn't I? You are beautiful."

She blushes too, her cheeks a pale shade of pink as she turns back to the kingdom – _her_ kingdom – in front of her. They remain silent for a while, him standing a few feet behind her, watching the wind in the trees and the waves of the sea.

"I can't believe we did it," she stays after several long minutes, and he finally moves closer to her.

"I never doubted you would. That's exactly why we needed you."

She smiles again, but not at him, and she seems so far out of his reach then, as if he couldn't touch her even if he tried. His body, his heart, ache for her in so many ways it almost hurts, dreaming to be hers if only for the night – to be hers until she grows tired of him. But he can't, not here, not like that. Captain Hook probably could do that with Emma Swan.

Lieutenant Jones is out of his league with Princess Emma.

"I can't wait to go back," she finally confesses in a breath. It surprises him.

"You're not staying?"

He knows David and Snow will, if only for a couple of months, to rebuilt the kingdom. As far as he knows, Regina is still confused on the subject, but it has more to do with Robin than anything. Tink will stay, that much is sure. Killian had assumed Emma would too, if only to stay close to her parents.

She scoffs. "The whole renaissance fair stuff? Not my thing." And then, looking at him again, "Will _you_?"

His heart beats faster at the way she looks at him, edges of the lost girl visible in her doe eyes, insecurities mixing with her fear of rejection mixing with hope so blatant it hurts. He reaches for her face, fingers brushing against her jaw, playing with her hair.

His mother always told him to reach for the stars.

Emma is a supernova of her own.

"I'll follow you anywhere you want me to be."

She smiles. "Good."

* * *

five.

"Swan?" He stumbles inside the apartment, frantically looking around him but his eyes only find empty space that does nothing to calm him down. Especially with the way David run to his ship, saying that Emma had called, he needed to go back to the apartment, it sounded urgent. Killian could only imagine the worst from there – and the worst included a couple of unbreakable curses because those ones follow them like the plague. "Emma?" he tries again, and she comes out of the bathroom at the same moment.

He goes for a sigh of relief, because she's here and alive and apparently not hurt, but the breath is stuck in his throat when he finally looks at her face. Her eyes are puffy and red from crying, hair a tangled mess around her face, and no among of biting her bottom lip hides how her mouth is trembling. But her eyes are sparkling and her lips curved upwards, the only reason his crazy mind doesn't jump to awful conclusions. Still, he's at loss for words, and apparently frozen on the spot, even with every fibber of his body scream to go and hug her.

"What happened, love?"

"I…" The words die in her throat, and she starts playing nervously with her fingers – he didn't even know Emma could _do_ nervous. "I'm pregnant."

His only reaction is to blink. She looks up at him then, with a little shrug and a shake of the head, and he isn't sure she means _yeah sorry about that_ or a more casual _I know, right?_

All Killian knows is that his body decided to move again, and he almost run by her side – only to stop in front of her and, softly, with trembling fingers, he cups her cheek. She gives him a little shaky laugh then, adorable in its vulnerability – oh, how far is the time she had those big walls between them, how far she's gone to be so open to him now.

"Are you serious?"

She nods, focusing on a point above his shoulder instead of his eyes, a little frown appearing on her brow. When she finally looks at him, he can read confusion and fear all over her face. "You're not happy."

It's an affirmation, not a question. He vaguely wonders what he must look like right now, for her to imagine such a thing. It's enough to have him snap out of her torpor, goofy grin curving his lips as he says, "You're pregnant." She nods again, warily this time. "You're pregnant with my baby."

"That's the idea, yes." And then she's laughing as he wraps his arms around her and spins, nose in her neck. Her feet barely touch the ground again that his lips find hers in a sloppy kiss, and then he's kissing every inch of skin he finds – cheeks and nose and closed eyes and forehead and neck.

"Bloody hell, woman." Killian falls to his knees in front of her, delicately lifting her shirt to face the bare skin of her stomach. He glances up at her before kissing it, right above the naval. The gesture is simple enough, but he can feel his heart growing bigger in his chest, beating so hard it hurts – because that still flat stomach just there keeps the most precious treasure of all, one he had thought out of his reach for so long. "Hello there, little one. I'm your papa."

Emma's sob makes him look at her again, and then he's standing up for yet another kiss as he holds her close. She always managed to surprise him in the most wonderful ways, always manages to catch him off-guard, and he isn't exactly sure his heart can take it for it wasn't meant to feel this much – time didn't prepare him for a happy ending.

(He, somewhat, remembers a conversation with Regina about villains and happy endings, on his boat, a long time ago. She found a new lover and so did he, they both found happiness, so perhaps they didn't waste their life after all.)

"I love you so much, Swan," he whispers against her lips. "More than you could ever imagine. And I love her too," he adds, fingers brushing against her stomach.

"Her?" she laughs between tears.

"Yes, it's a she. Just wait and see."

* * *

one.

The wind grows stronger with each passing second, forcing her to close her eyes as she grips the hilt of her sword tighter. Regina's incantations, and maybe also insults, are only a low mumble to her right, and she lost sight of her parents minutes ago. Only Hook remains by her side, but she knows it won't be for long either – the Witch wants her, and there will be no collateral damage today.

That's at least the plan, until the bitch's green figure appears in front of him, greeting Hook with her most dangerous grin.

Everything happens too fast then. The new blast of wind throwing Emma and Regina away, her grunt as she falls down quickly replaced by a scream of terror when the Witch reached for Hook's chest – for Hook's heart. Even from afar, she hears his moan of surprise, sees his features twisting with pain. Another scream escapes her lips, fear and anger and desperation.

No, not him, not again, everything but crushing the heart. Not again.

She scrabbles to her feet and runs toward them, towards him, her years of living in the streets coming back in full swing as her survival instinct takes the upper hand over her body. It doesn't leave her time to think, only to clench her fist, thumb out, as she takes a swing at the Witch. It lands against her jaw, effectively surprising her, as Emma all but screams, "Don't you touch him, you bitch."

(Not her best line but, well, not much time to think about that either.)

The element of surprise allows her precious seconds to kneel by Hook's side, hands reaching for his chest, his face. He's way too pale for her liking, eyes closed in pain, and she already fears the worst.

"No, no, no, no, come on, Hook. Don't do that to me, not now."

She vaguely registers Regina's voice is back somewhere to her right, but she doesn't really care in that moment. She cups Hook's face with her hands, thumbs brushing against his cheeks, as dread replaces adrenaline in her veins.

"You can't leave me now, Killian. You just can't."

_I hurt his heart. Belle is just where he keeps it_. The words, his words, are clear as bell in her mind. She doesn't want to dwell on them but does because who is she kidding anyway. It's easier to pretend not to care, not to feel, and not only to protect her heart from breaking yet another time – she realises now it was to protect him too, even unconsciously, because being the Savior is dangerous and a burden she should carry alone. She can't afford to let people in when she'll be fighting the new bad guy next week, will be breaking the next curse in a month. She can't afford to let villains hurt the one she loves in order to hurt her.

Yet it is exactly what happened.

What is going to happened again, if the Witch's hollow laugh is any indication.

Emma covers Killian's body with hers as best as she can, because there is no way the hag is touching a single one of his hairs again, and she closes hers eyes, waiting for the next attack. Closes her eyes and shivers and let her mind flows in desperation, the same way it did at Dark Hollow.

_Conjuring magic is not an intellectual endeavour — it's emotion_. She feels his body warmth against her, feels his heart beating against her skin, his soft hair between her fingers. She wants to hear his chuckles again, the way he whispers innuendos that have her smile, that crooked grin of his. She wants to see his eyes again, blue and deep and soft, the way he looks at her with such devotion and love.

She refuses to let that slip between her fingers, to let any chance at building something with him being taken by Idina Mendez's character.

She won't let that happen.

The ground seem to tremble then – probably Regina's magic finally working – until the wind is gone and so are the wicked laughs. In a matter of seconds, everything goes back to normal, and Emma slowly raises her head to an empty field. Her eyes meet Regina's, and the shock on the brunette's face is all Emma needs to understand – the magic wasn't coming from the Queen. Of course it wasn't.

And then Killian takes a shaky breath and opens his eyes, and all she can do is throw herself at him again, laughing in relief against his neck. His whole body tenses, then he hugs her back with a small laugh.

"Next time you want to climb me, wait until we're in private."

She's shaking with relieved laughs now, squeezing him tighter. "I'll think about it."

"Good." He lets his head fall back on the ground with a little grunt. "Now don't mind me, just going to rest here for a couple of minutes."

She shakes her head, unable to get rid of her smile, and plays with the hair falling on his forehead. "Yeah, you do that."


	16. matters of the heart

The map takes the whole table, little steel figurines representing their (too small) armies, and Snow moves them around as she explains their battle plan for the following day. Her mother, Emma learnt, is the brain of the couple, able to create strategies and war plans in a heartbeat – years of leadership and experience. Robin chimes in once in a while for a detail, an added explanation, but Snow does most of the talking – David seems happy just sitting back and letting her do so.

"Robin and the Merry Men will stand on the left, with Regina in case they need magic. And you, Hook…" He raises his head to nod at Snow, proof that she has his attention. "You'll be at the back with the people, making sure everybody is safe and not doing anything reckless."

He glances at Emma then, Adam's apple bobbing, before focusing back on Snow. "Not on the battlefield?"

"No." The answer is to the point, leaving him not space to complain. "Now as for the dwarves…"

Emma can't focus on anything her mother says then, even if she keeps her eyes on the map, because she feels Hook staring at her in disbelief. She tries to stay still, knows how important this is, and how important her mere presence is for everyone, but his eyes keep digging holes in her skin and, after long minutes of silence, she finally stands straight.

"I'll be right back."

She almost flees the room – she isn't surprised when she hears the door opening and closing a second time behind her.

"Really, love? You're going to do that to me?"

"Mary Margaret planned this, not me."

She doesn't want to face him, not now, not to have this conversation in particular. So she doesn't move, if only to fold her arms against her chest, as she stares at a point in front of her and nervously nibbles her bottom lip. She doesn't fool him, though – but then again, when did she ever? – and Hook moves to stand in front of her, forcing her to look at him with two fingers on her chin.

"So why do I have an inkling that idea in particular was yours alone?"

She tries to look away but he won't let him, fingers tightening around her chin and eyes reading hers, looking for answers she doesn't want to give – not now, not ever. She has to focus on tomorrow's battle, on her role in it, and she can't let her mind drift on things as trivial as her relationship with Hook.

(Which, all things considered, isn't trivial at all, but she likes to convince herself otherwise.)

"It is the best choice. You're good with the people, you're one of them."

"So is Robin, as far as I can tell."

She wriggles, tries to look away once again, but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. "Yeah, well, Robin has Regina to protect him."

Her eyes widen and so do his, staring at each other in silence, until she effectively manages to break away. She takes a few steps, if only to put some distance between them, her back to him. It would be foolish to expect him to stop the conversation there, tough.

"Is that what it is all about? You wanting to protect me?"

All she manages to do is shake her head because, no, it isn't all about that, even if she has his protection at heart. It is about so much more, and she can't even begin to explain without the conversation leading to another one that's been following them since New York, since he decided that a True Love's kiss was worth a shot. She's been avoiding this conversation like the plague so far, and she's done a good job at it – she won't stop there.

But the pirate is even more stubborn than she is, placing a hand on her shoulder as he slowly forces her to turn around and face him again. Emma makes a big show of staring at his chest instead of his eyes, which, all things considered, doesn't help at all.

"Talk to me, Emma."

Her heart misses a beat at his name on his tongue, so far from his usual 'Swan' and pet names, but also at the way he says it, with reference and awe, like a caress, a plea. She can't help it then, she looks up at him, immediately drowning in his blue eyes, so open, so vulnerable, and she's done – she can't lie to him, she won't lie to him.

"Yes, I'm doing this to protect you," is all she manages to say.

"Why?"

Such a simple question for such a complex answer.

"Because…" She stops, draws in a painful breath. "Because of that thing you said at the hospital. About Gold and Belle."

He frowns even so slightly, as if trying to remember – it's only been weeks for her, but months for him – until a flash of realisation appears in his eyes, and his whole face goes softer as he raises his good hand to play with a lock of her hair, putting it behind her ear.

"You're afraid the witch will go after me to hurt you."

His hand travels slowly until cupping her cheek, thumb caressing the sensible skin here, and she leans into it if only for a moment, eyes closing on their own accord. "I know she will. They always do."

She doesn't want to think about Graham, but his sad eyes come to haunt her anyway, his shoelace heavy against her wrist. She can't afford to do that again, can't afford to put Hook into danger – she made that mistake once and it won't happen again, she won't let it happen again. She can't lose Killian now.

"Who will protect _you_ then?"

"I don't need protecting."

He scoffs at that, hot breath tickling her skin as he leans his forehead against hers. She can feel him shaking his head, and wonders if it's a message or just him reacting at her stubbornness.

"I won't leave you alone, love. You've been alone for far too long already."

It's soft, barely a whisper, bringing chills down her spine and having her heart ache for him, for this good, selfless man. All the more reasons for him not to be on the front lines, for him to remain safe. There are not enough like him around, the world can't afford to lose him.

"Killian, please…"

He tenses at his name on her lips, remains still for a long time before, finally, nodding against her forehead. "If this is what you want…" and she can hear all the heaviness in his words, how painful it is for him to accept it – it hurts her too, so used to him being by her side at all times, with a comforting word or a soft smile. She doesn't know how she'll do without him, but she'll have to find a way – it is for the greater good.

"There is more to it, isn't it?" he asks, after minutes of silence. "There is something else you are hiding from me."

Damn him for knowing her so well, for sensing all those things about her, all she thinks and doesn't say, all she keeps for herself. Damn him for reading her like the open book she doesn't want to be, for crushing all her walls one by one until he can finally reach to her.

"This… _Us_. It can't happen. Not now. Not ever."

He stumbles back like she burnt him, and she already feels guilty for the pain written all over his face – equally betrayed and disappointed, but mostly hurt, so hurt he can't even keep a straight face, the emotions written on his features, in his eyes. But it's like tearing a band-aid, it hurts at first but the pain is only supposed to be temporary until you realise it was the best solution.

"I'm the Savior. I can't…"

"Really?" he interrupts her. "You're going for that bloody joke of an excuse?"

"It isn't a joke!"

And then he's over her again, cradling her face in his hand, hook delicately pressed against her other cheek, as his chest brushes against her, eyes burning with anger and determination.

"Why exactly couldn't you be in a relationship with me?"

She opens her mouth, uselessly, for his question caught her off-guard and she has no answer to offer just yet. She wants to tell him, about Graham's heart and Belle's memory loss and how dangerous it would be for him. She wants to tell him she's doing the selfless thing, for once, and he should respect that – how she wants to be selfish, just once, and let her own happiness be more important than everybody else, but just can't because of the responsibilities that come with her title, her birth. She wants to say all that, and some more, but nothing comes out.

He jumps on the occasion. "Let me tell you what would happen then." She finds herself nodding, and he smiles. "Nothing would change. You would still save the world and I would still be by your side, always. On the bad days you'd fight, and on the good day, you'd be with the lad and your parent. _Nothing would change_. Except…" And he brushes his nose against hers then, voice lower and teasing. "Except I'd kiss you, and hug you, and I'd warm your bed. I'd make sure you're never alone, and never doubting yourself." His kisses were like burning caresses on her cheeks, her jaw. "And I'd love you, Swan. I will love you so much it will become a strength, not a weakness."

She all putty in his arms then, grabbing his coat and tilting her head to grant him better access to her neck, breath coming out in short silent moans. Her mind buzzes, limbs shaking and body going numb – thanks God for his arms around her waist, keeping her against him.

"Let me love you, Emma. It's all I'm asking."

Her heart beats faster, almost painful against her chest, swelling and squeezing and melting all at once as she feels her resolve crumbling to dust with every brush of his lips against her skin. He whispers, "Emma, please" against her neck like a prayer, and something snaps in her, something that's been there for way too long. She grabs his coat by the collar and lifts his head up until her lips crash against his, hot and hurry and passionate. It's like Neverland all over again, quick and desperate, muffled moans at the back of her throat and his groans against her lips.

"I'm scared," she says finally, voice weak and broken like the lost girl she is. He hugs her, tucking her head under his chin, kisses the top of her hair and caresses her hair.

"That's all right, love. Everybody's scared."

"You're still staying in the back tomorrow."

He chuckles, hugs her tighter. "As you wish."


	17. we pick ourselves undone

beginning the cs movie month with _what's your number_ minus the movie's slut-shaming undertones

* * *

Emma meets her neighbour a week after moving in her new apartment in Boston. It's too early in the morning to be awake, especially with that little caffeine in her blood, and she fumbles with her keys when she hears a door opening behind her. She's struggling with locking her own door, but still manages a quick glance over her shoulder with a mumbled 'hello' – it has little to do with manners and a lot to do with wanting to assess who's living opposite her, because the guy in Seattle was a creep and a pervert and she'd rather not go through that again, thank you very much.

She stops in her tracks when she takes a good look at him because – dear god.

He stands in his doorway, naked from head to toes, only using a dishtowel to hide his crotch and, when he leans to grab the newspaper on his doormat, it gives her a nice view of his muscular back and an even nicer view of his butt. It's only when he stands straighter that he notices her, and he offers her a grin. And he's not just well built, he's pretty handsome at that and – damn. His black mop of hair is a mess, and she isn't sure if it's bed hair or _sex_ hair, his smile crooked and his eyes the bluest blue she's ever seen – Emma can't help it, she stares.

The grin grows bigger as he leans against his doorframe.

"So, you're E. Swan," he says and, of course he has an accent, of _fucking_ course.

It only takes her three seconds before she starts wondering how he even knows that in the first place, and her surprise may be written all over her face for he raises the hand not holding the towel to point slightly to her left with the newspaper.

"Written on the doorbell."

Yeah. Of course.

She checks the door is locked one last time before throwing her keys in her handbag with the firm intention to get out and away from him as fast as possible, but then he asks, "What does the E. stand for?" with a low and husky voice and – she's just done.

"Emma. Emma Swan."

"Jones. Killian Jones," he mimics her, his tone sounding a lot like Bond, James Bond.

She rolls her eyes and, without another glance, she hurtles down the stairs because the last thing she wants is to be late for work because of her creepy-yet-handsome nudist of a neighbour. She'd never hear the end of it if she had to explain _that_ to her boss.

His "See you later, Emma Swan" follows her to the lower floor.

.

She finish her work at five, relishing in the fact she won't have to spend the night tracking some asshole who owes money to some big company, and she's planning her evening on her way back to her apartment – hot bath, Jazz music, and then a good movie or two before falling asleep. She almost sighs at the mere thought, can't remember the last time she didn't go home to tons of paperwork.

She's pouring herself a glass of orange juice, ready to spend the next hour or so in her bathroom, when someone knocks on the door. Tempted to just ignore whoever it is at first, she's startled by more insistent knocking and, cursing under her breath, goes for the door.

She's less surprised that she ought to when she finds her neighbour in the doorstep.

"Wow. You're dressed."

He grins at her deadpan tone, hands in his pockets and looking at her through his lashes – nope, not effective at all. They stare at each other for a while until, with a sigh and a raised eyebrow, she silently forces him to talk. It strangely works.

"Do you have some extra sugar, or salt, or eggs, or whatever people use as an excuse for an ice-breaking conversation between neighbours?"

Is he for real?

She realises she may have said that out loud because his grin turns into a smirk, all traces of fake-innocence washed out of his face in a second. Emma tries not to be affected by his piercing eyes, or the way he makes a show of licking his lips, but images of his naked body keeps taunting her in the most delicious ways.

She rolls her eyes as dramatically as possible. "What do you want, Jones?"

"I told you, sugar or eggs or…"

"What do you _really_ want?"

He stands straighter then, fingers scratching his ear in what she guesses to be nervousness – it's impressive, how many masks he seems to wear on that handsome face of his, almost as deceiving as hers. "I want to apologize for this morning. Not the best way to make a good first impression."

"Is that an habit of yours?"

His smile turns impish. "Why? Does it bother you?"

She snorts. "Does an handsome naked man on my doorstep bother me?"

And, just like that, his arrogant bravado is back, with additional smirk and piercing eyes. "So you think I'm handsome."

He steps closer to her, obviously invading her personal space, but she knows better than to step back and show weakness. So she lets his hot breath tickle her skin, loses herself in his blue eyes for a second or two – it's been so long since her last one-stand, after all.

"I have eyes, you know," she replies, playing along, and she feels more than see the growing smile on his lips when he leans against her as if ready to kiss her neck. "Too bad I also have dignity."

And then, hands on his chest, she pushes him away – almost laughs at how lost he seems to be all of a sudden, eyes widening and sad pout on his lips, as if waking up from the sweetest dream only to realised it wasn't real. She almost feels bad for a grand total of three seconds before remembering he's a stranger and she isn't that kind of woman.

She's about to close her door when he says her name, and she stops in her tracks, waiting for what's next. He offers her a smile, biting on his bottom lip. "I'm actually really out of salt."

She doesn't know if she wants to laugh or sigh, settles on rolling her eyes instead.

.

Emma isn't really sure how it happens but, sooner than later, Killian Jones becomes her friend – or whatever you call your neighbour-you-see-naked-every-other-day-who-flirts-with-you-but-is-also-really-funny these days. It just kind of happens, between two conversations on the doorstep and him helping her with her grocery bags – those five floors will be the death of her really soon.

She'll even admit he's one of the best friends she's ever had, which doesn't mean much because Emma doesn't do friends, but still he's entertaining and…

"Hey, Swan."

… and has that annoying habit of barging in her apartment whenever he sees fitting.

With cat-like movements, he jumps above her couch from behind, sitting next to her with that stupid grin of his, making himself at home like he was always meant to live here – they've only known each other for a month and he's ready to put his toothbrush in her bathroom, the jerk.

"What are you working on?" he asks, taking a glimpse at her laptop screen. She makes a big deal of turning it out of his sight.

"Don't you have women to bed or kittens to kill instead of wasting my time?"

"Darling, we both know you crave for those moments with me."

She rolls her eyes, more by reflex than anything else by now, and turns around so she sits with her back to the couch's armrest and her feet on his lap – she decided to throw manners out the window when she realised his habit of being naked was going to stay. He doesn't seem to mind, playing with his phone as a comfortable silence settles between them – she likes that, how easy things seem to be with him, how he doesn't force her to talk all the time.

Silence Killian is meant to break at one point or another, thought.

"Seriously, what are you working on?"

"Nothing." But her reply is too fast and too harsh, not fooling him at all as he raises an eyebrow at her. She sighs. "It's not for work, it's… personal."

"Maybe I can help?"

He's been doing that a lot since she told him she was a bounty hunter – trying to help her, with all the curiosity he can muster, giving her advices and ideas. She's too proud to say it out loud, but he is indeed good at it, with his little pep talks and his ability to sense when she needs a break, pushing her out of the apartment and buying her drinks at the coffee shop around the corner.

Emma never had someone taking care of her that way before.

"It's just…" and she show him the screen, Internet bowser opened on the social services website. "Me looking for my parents, again. And failing. _Again_."

She was almost relieved to see sadness, and not pity, in his eyes – a bottle of rum shared on the rooftop a week ago had been enough for them to learn they had both grown up without their parents, for very different reasons. _Orphans got to stick together_, he had said, like they were part of a very select circle, and she had smiled with another sip of rum burning her throat.

"You won't manage to find what you're looking for on that website, love."

And, with that, he pushes her legs away to stand up, making his way out of her apartment – he stops with his hand on the handle, though, and looks at her with what he thinks is his most adorable pout.

"Actually." She knows it's going to be bad just by the way he says the word. "Do you mind fetching my laptop for me? Just ignore whoever you find in my flat."

She frowns at first, until realisation dawns on her, and she glares at him. "Are you hiding in my apartment until your one-night stand leaves?"

"She's a late sleeper," he whines, like that's supposed to be a valid argument.

"You're such a jerk!"

Still, Emma stands up too and, with a glare thrown at him, walks to his apartment. She's relieved that it is actually empty, because she doesn't know how she would react if she were to face some bimbo in her underwear, and finds the laptop in a matter of seconds. She slams it against Killian's chest when she goes back to her own apartment.

"Coast is clear."

"Thank you, love."

He sits on the couch again, laptop open on her coffee table, and she frowns at all the software she's never seen before, lines and lines of green codes on black backgrounds and stuffs that barely look legal, even to her standards. She looks back at his face, incredulous.

"You told me you were a musician!"

"Aye, that may have been a half-lie." He flashes her a grin before focusing back on the screen. "So, we said social services…"

"Are you some kind of pirate?"

He scoffs at the choice of word. "I prefer _hacker_ if you don't mind. I'm paid by big companies to break into their servers and test their security." He glances at her then, and she has no doubt which emotions must be written on her face now, for his Adam's apple bobs nervously. "Please, don't fret, love. I really sing in pubs once in a while."

She just stares at him, wondering when exactly she allowed herself to trust him – it stings a bit, his lie, after so many years of not opening up to anyone. But he smiles that crooked smile of his that makes his eyes sparkle, and there are undertones to it, like he's trying to convince her of how sorry he is. She gets it, kind of, because her job isn't something she speaks of easily either.

"I've got a deal for you, Swan." Just like that, she focuses back on him, and his smile turns into a smirk and – uho, she doesn't like that at all. "I help you tracking your parents if you offer me shelter so I can wait for the ladies to leave my flat."

"You want me to help you being an irresponsible slut?"

"Basically, yes."

Her lips are only a thin line, because this guy is the biggest jerk she's ever met and he has to be kidding, but he looks dead serious and his laptop is just there, the answers waiting for her. She sighs. "Okay, fine."

He has a gleeful chuckle as he leans to kiss her cheek and, as she turns a nice shade of pink, she wonders what she's getting herself into.

.

She wakes up one morning to find him asleep on her couch, cradling one of the cushions to his chest, and she doesn't even react. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and waddles to the kitchen, hair sticking in every direction and eyelids heavy with sleep. He sloppily kisses her cheek when she puts a mug of hot coffee in his hands.

She smiles.

.

"Sooo…" Killian says as he bursts into her apartment, laptop balanced on one arm and the other hand holding an apple – he munches it as loudly as possible because he's a child that way. "I know you're not supposed to ask a lady's age, but I really need your birthdate."

"Did you crack it?" she asks from her place on the floor, folders opened all around her and suddenly discarded.

"Did you ever doubt I would?"

She jumps on her feet with a loud, and somewhat embarrassing, squeak and they both sit on the couch, touching from shoulder to tight as she leans against him to have a better look at his screen – it doesn't make any sense, even for someone used to cracking computers like she sometimes does for her job, but she has no doubt he knows what he is doing.

"We obviously can't look at your social services file because it'd be bloody useless. _But_ we can look for women giving birth in Maine around that time period and focus on babies who didn't go back home with their mummy. You'll be one of them."

"That's brilliant. It's going to take months, but that's brilliant."

He offers her one of his trademark grins. "It'll take the time it'll take but I will find them. I promise."

She doesn't understand she's crying until he brushes the tears away with his thumb – she knows it's stupid, being emotional over that, but nobody has ever done some much for her without asking anything back, and she doesn't know how to react to his selflessness. Especially when he smiles at her, really smiles without a trace of arrogance or mockery, like he would do anything and so much more for her.

All Emma wants is to kiss him right now.

She doesn't.

.

It's past midday on a Friday when she receives a text that only says 'save me', and she wants to scoff at Killian for how pathetic he is with the way he handles (or, rather, doesn't handle at all) his one-night stands. But she's bored out of her mind and there's nothing on tv right now so she just thinks _what the hell_ and stands up.

For all the time he spends in her apartment, she's barely been in his at all, and she's surprised to find it way tidier and cleaner than she thought – especially coming from a bachelor with commitment issues who spend his days on his computer for a living. Maybe she expected food containers and empty coke bottles everywhere, she doesn't know. Not something that looks out of an Ikea brochure.

"Killian, honey?"

For a second, Emma wonders where – and _how_ – she'll find him, but she doesn't have to wonder any longer when a woman gets out of the bathroom, only wearing panties and a shirt too big for her. She stops and they stare at each other for a long time before the other asks, "Who are you?" with a confused frown.

"What do you mean, who am I? Who are _you_?" And she almost wants to laugh at the way her voice break towards the end, especially when the woman's face suddenly pales as she connects the dots.

That's when Killian decides to leave his bedroom, looking lost for a second with the deadly glare Emma throws at him. So confused he takes a step back when she snaps. "You cheated on me? With this bitch?"

There's a flash of understanding in his eyes – good boy – before he stammers, "Emma… You were only supposed to come back tomorrow."

"I can't _believe_ it!"

The other girl keeps staring at them, obviously not willing to move any time soon, but Emma doesn't feel like attacking her for something that is entirely Killian's fault. So she settles on the only thought that crosses her mind then – she walks to him and slaps him so hard it resonates in the whole apartment, closely followed by a gasp from the girl, and screams, "We were supposed to get married!"

That finally does the trick, for the other girl runs to the bedroom and, in a matter of seconds, runs outside the apartment with her clothes in her arms, whispering something about leaving them to deal with their problems alone. Emma waits until the door closes behind her to burst into laughter.

"Okay, that was _fun_."

Even massaging his hurt cheek, Killian starts laughing too. "You're amazing, love. Don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yeah, I'm that good."

There's something in his eyes then, as he comes closer to her, a hunger that wasn't there before, and it freaks her out – mostly because the girl he had sex last night just left, and Emma has principles, thank you very much. So she does the only thing she's good at: she freaks out and runs away.

.

"So, Christina Hamilton… is black." Killian looks up from his laptop screen to her, a pensive pout on his lips, and she's tempter to throw a cushion at his face for how stupid he is. "Maybe not."

They've been at it for two weeks now, crossing out as many names as possible, working for hours every night and weekend, and Emma doesn't see the end of the tunnel yet, like a never-ending wild goose chase. Maybe it's just not meant to happen, maybe she's supposed to remain an orphan all her life – there must be a reason why she was left on the side of the road, after all.

"Want something to drink?"

"Aye, coffee would be grand." He rubs his eyes under his glasses – he wears them when he spends too much time in front of his computer, which basically means he's always wearing them– and she has to admit he's even more adorable like that. "Well, actually, no. It's late, let's call it a night."

He stands up from his place on the floor – Emma winces at the sound of his bones cracking as he stretches – only to come and sit next to her on the couch.

"Want to watch a movie? We could marathon The Lord of the Rings or something."

"You're such a nerd," she laughs, pushing him away with a hand on his cheek, before sobering up. "Extended editions, I hope?"

He stares at her for a very long time before mouthing 'marry me', and she can't help it if she blushes furiously. But then he jumps on his feet, and the moment is broken.

"Actually, no. We've been spending too much time indoors. Let's go out."

He offers her his hand. She doesn't think twice before taking it.

.

She tries not to be affected as he leads her god knows where with his hands on her eyes and his chest pressed against her back, warmth radiating from his body and breath tickling her neck as he whispers directions to her ear. It brings a shiver down her spine, this soft velvety voice of his, and she wants him to never stop talking – he could read the phonebook, for all she cares, and it would still captivate her.

"Okay, only a few more steps, love. Careful, don't stumble… Here we are."

When she opens her eyes, they widen immediately for she's standing in the middle of the Garden – big and empty and only lit by a few neon lights, but it still makes her feel small and vulnerable. She turns to look at Killian, mouth wide open, and he only shrugs even if his smile erases the vibe of casualness he wants to send.

"I know people" is his only explanation.

Understatement of the year.

And then he throws a ball at her, that she catches easily, with that infuriating grin of his. "Feels like playing H.O.R.S.E., darling?"

"Okay." And then she throws the ball, shooting it through the hoop easily, barely watching what she does. His jaw drops in surprise. "Oh, sorry. Did I forget to mention I was part of the university's team?"

Killian points a finger at her then, and it's all but threatening but she sees the challenge in his eyes and it makes her chuckle. "You're on, blondie."

They spend the next half-hour playing and trying ridiculous moves until all Killian wears is his boxers while she only lost her shoes. _Oddly familiar_, she mocks, and he sticks his tongue out at her like the child he is before scoring a three-point shot that has her clapping.

"That tank top of yours is coming off even if I have to rip it off your body."

"Is that a promise?" she asks, voice low and teasing, when he's about to shoot, and he almost stumble on his own feet, the ball missing the loop. He glares at him, but can't hide the hunger in his eyes, the way he licks his bottom lip.

He's about to reply when they hear some commotion behind the rows of seats. It takes Killian a matter of seconds before snatching his clothes and her shoes, taking her hand and running away as fast as possible.

They only stop when they reach the docks, panting and breathless, and she leans against him, laughing in his neck as his arms wrap around her. "That was fun," she says after a few minutes, looking up at him through her lashes. His cheeks are red and his eyes sparkle in the dark, and she really wants to kiss him right now.

So she does.

.

He indeed rips her tank top off her body that night, but who is she to complain?

.

Emma wakes up to warm arms around her waist and light kisses on her shoulder, and she leans against his chest, relishing in the moment.

She also realises it's been weeks since the last time Killian sneaked in her apartment to escape his one-night stand, and she knows it's linked, knows they've been tiptoeing around each other for far too long.

So she just closes her eyes and smiles, feeling loved for the first time in a long time – her little breathless laugh turns into a moan when his hand wanders down her body.

.

It takes them four more months before cutting down the list to one Mary Margaret Nolan née Blanchard from Storybrooke, Maine.

It takes Emma three more weeks to pick up the phone.


	18. I fell in love in a pub

She sets foot in the bar and he can't look away.

Killian has seen his bunch of college girls, looking for the thrill of a night out, getting drunk on cheap beers and laughing too loudly. She's something else entirely, holding herself like some royal even when she pushes her geeky glasses up her nose – he's certain she smells of paper and coffee and too many hours at the library. Especially with her blonde hair plaited over her shoulder and the nervous smiles she casts her girl friends, like she isn't quite sure why she's here.

Yes, that one screams 'bookworm' and Killian knows all about them – he's so out of his league here it's not even funny. Yet he can't stop looking at her, the way she stands straight and proud even when drinking whatever is in that colourful cocktail of hers. Little nerds don't usually act like that.

He's shaken out of his thoughts by a not so delicate elbow in the ribs by Robin and a reminder he has to pay his round. With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, he drags himself out of his seat and closer to the bar counter, ready to jungle with half a dozen glasses of beer on the way back to their table. Buy the drink, take them, ignore the blond nerd standing next to him.

Should be easy enough.

That's without taking Victor into account, of course, because the bloody bastard appears out of nowhere to tap on the girl's shoulder with a glorious "Haaaaaave you met Killian?" before running away. Killian is left staring at the empty space, eyes wide because _how dares he_, before he snaps out of it and smiles at her. She smiles back, clearly stiffing a laugh.

"Hi, I'm Killian. I hate my friends."

She openly laughs by now. "Emma."

"Well, Emma, can I buy you a drink?"

.

Turns out Emma is an English major, went out tonight only because it's her best friend's birthday – some spunky brunette called Ruby who's flirting with Victor by now – and that she snorts into her beer every time Killian says something funny. Which becomes more and more often as he keeps making lame jokes that bring tears to her eyes.

"So what are _you_ studying?" she finally asks, her finger playing along the edge of her glass.

Here it is. He bites his bottom lip and looks away for a couple of seconds before looking back at her, almost impishly. "Geography."

She can't help it, she snorts again – the sound is less than elegant, but oh so adorable. "Wow, and they say _I_ chose a dead-end major." He replies by a sarcastic little smirk that she chooses to ignore as she keeps teasing him. "So, what do you want to do when you grow up? Cartographer? Working in a museum? _Teacher_?"

"Well, aren't you a funny lass." His sarcasm feels flat, especially with the proud little smile on her lips that makes his heart beats fast. Damn her. "I just want to, I don't know, travel and see the world."

"You were born in the wrong century then." She says that almost sadly, with a pensive little pout, before another smile curls her lips. "You would have been a pirate, back then."

It's his time to laugh, low chuckles as he steps closer to her. Still she doesn't move away, lets him enter her personal space until their noses are almost brushing. "And do you know what us pirates do to little ladies like you?"

Her gasp is soft but the breath hot against his skin, lips only an inch apart. All he has to do is lean over and capture them, and she nods slightly, nose brushing against his, as to give him permission. All he has to do is lean over…

A loud whistle startles the both of them, forehead colliding, and Killian turns to glare at Robin, who only grins back. Bloody bastards, all of them. "Seriously, mate?" he asks loudly enough to be heard across the room.

Robin offers him a careless shrug. "The beers aren't going to buy themselves."

When he looks back at Emma, her lips are pressed into a thin line not to laugh, eyebrows shooting up with a mocking light in her eyes. He goes for a little shrug and a roll of his eyes. "Like I said. I hate my friends."

Still he buys the beers, because he'd hate to stand between his friends and drunkenness, and is actually surprised when she followed him to the table, drawing a chair to sit by his side. She steals his beer and that's how he knows he's a goner – he never lets anyone take his food, let alone his drinks. So Killian only wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses her cheek, lingering a little longer than necessary.

Five minutes later, Robin realises they shared a litt class in first year, and everything goes downhill from there – because they might look like the toughest guys in town but they're all just a bunch of cool nerdy dudes and, right now, Robin is too busy talking about some authors Killian never heard about to care about their so-called reputation.

And that's how he discovers Emma is writing her thesis about fairy tales of all things. It leads to one crazy debate about Disney movies, and then Disney in general, and by the time Little John starts talking about some weird tv shows he watched a month ago, Killian realises it's two in the morning and Emma is drawing patterns on his tight, flashing him a smile once in a while, like she just belongs there.

Perhaps she does.

"Let's go to my place, love," he whispers in her ear, and she only nods in reply.

But they're barely on their feet that Robin calls after him again and, if only for a second, Killian entertains the idea of punching his friend in the face. For good measure. Still, as he turns his head, something slivery flights at him and he quickly catches it before it hits him in the cheek. He's only half-surprised, when he opens his palm, to see Robin's bunch of keys.

When it comes to discretion, Killian has never seen worse.

"Check my bookcase, you'll find the book I talked about, and some more", the blond tells Emma with a grin. "I'll spend the night at Regina's anyway."

A grin curls her lips, before she settles for stupor, eye opened wide as she registers what he just said, and Killian can only roll his eyes – yes, discretion is definitely not part of Robin's vocabulary.

"Regina? Regina _Mills_?"

Killian hurries to put a hand on her back and forces her to walk away before Robin can effectively brag about his sexual prowess in public. "Yes, he's your teacher's toy boy. No, you don't want details."

.

"So," she begins, dragging on the vowel as her finger trails against the covers of several books. Looking at the titles, not at him. "What's your deal? Using your friend's apartment for one-night stands so they don't know where you live?"

He can't help it, he laughs – this girl has so nerves. "No. Let's just say it's some kind of barter between us. He lets me crash in his couch when I'm too drunk to go back home, and I let him use my flat for other activities." She looks up at him then, with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow, and he huffs when he understands the words she doesn't say. "_Not like that_. I've got a big telly, we play video games."

Her smile is purely illegal by now. "Not judging."

She laughs when he throws his arms up in the air, and goes back to looking at the books until she finds the one she was here for in the first place, with a little gleeful sound that does nothing to calm his need to pull her against him and get rid of her clothes. Especially when she flips through the pages with a fascinated smile, oblivious to his staring.

"Still," she says after a few seconds, "bringing a lot of chicks here, I gather?"

She goes for a casual tone, but it doesn't fool Killian – there's an edge to her voice that sounds a lot like _jealousy_, and he can't help but find it bloody adorable. Barely known him for a few hours, not even kissed him yet, and she's already all possessive – and he's falling, hard.

He slowly comes closer to her until he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest as his lips find her neck. The book falls from her hand with a soft 'thumb' and she pulls her hair above her shoulder to grand him more access to her skin, tilting her head to the side.

"No, love. Just you." His voice sounds low and breathless already, and he's pretty sure it brings shivers down her spine. It makes him smirk against her skin. "Only you."

She turns around in his arms to face him, lips coming to claim his as her own. Something snaps inside him, heart swelling and hurting from beating too fast against his ribcage – as if he needed the physical confirmation of what his mind had been screaming at him since the moment his eyes fell on hers. (A whole different physical reaction when her hips press against his, and he wonders if one can go crazy with love.)

"Where's the bedroom?" she ask between two kisses, eyelids heavy and lips swollen.

He chuckles. "No bloody idea, darling. Maybe I'll have you against the bookcase."


	19. sleep

She comes to him in his sleep.

He's dreamt of her a lot in the past few months, as she kept haunting his days and plaguing his nights, the thought of her never leaving his mind. She's always here, the same way Milah did, and it frightens him – Milah was here, but she had slipped away, slowly, terribly slowly, until one day he couldn't remember the texture of her skin, the colour of her eyes. He is afraid the same thing will happen to Emma, afraid to forget, to let his memory play tricks on him. Afraid she will escape him like smoke through his fingers.

He promised he would think of her every day, and forgetting even an ounce of a tiny detail would be a perjury, would make him a fraud; he can't allow it. He can't allow to forget the exact shade of green of her eyes or to imagine her hair more golden than they really are, can't forget her rare freckles, the way her lips curls into even rarer smiles.

She comes to him in his sleep, but it's not a dream this time.

He's been in Neverland, and around her, and around Regina, long enough to recognize it, the low buzzing in his ears, the soft tingle in his fingers – magic. It's weak, but there, her magic enveloping them like a safe cocoon as she appears in front of him.

In his dreams, she always wears her red jacket, or beautiful gowns with intricate hairdos – either the Saviour or the Princess. Not this time. She only wears a shirt, too large for her small frame, bare legs in plain sight and shoulder revealed by the too loose piece of clothing. Her skin pale and smooth, hair falling around her face in a beautiful mess of tangled locks. Eyes hazy, almost lost. He's seen that look on her before, seen if five glorious times – the look she has when she wakes up, mind still clouded with sleep as she tries to chase the night off her with a rub of the eyes and a stifled yawn.

She stumbles from her own sleep into his, like one would fall down the last step of a grand staircase.

She seems confused at first, not quite sure what she's doing here, but her eyes soften as she looks at him – a little shrug and a roll of the eyes that means _yeah, of course it would be you._

He's too stunned to react until he isn't, crossing the distance between them until her smell tickles his nose, until her warmth come to sooth him. She smiles, soft and delicate, and he grins back. They say distance makes the heart grows fonder – his is swelling and ever-growing for her, too big and not big enough, beating fast and painful against his ribcage. He missed her, oh so much, and waking up will been painful, but she's here, right now, and it's worth all the heartbreaks in the realms.

He reaches for a taunting lock of hair, soft against his fingers as he tucks it behind her ear. His hand settles on her neck then, thumb brushing against her jaw. Killian isn't quite sure if it is real or just a figment of his imagination – she will forget it all in the morning anyway, so he can be bold in his affections. Especially with the way she smiles at him, like she never smiled before.

He didn't know you could fall even more in love than he already was.

And then she knocked the air out of his lungs, quite literally, her body colliding with his as her arms wrap around his waist. She squeezes, tight, tight, tight, until breathing becomes difficult – like she doesn't want to let go, like she knows waking up means forgetting. So he hugs back, more delicately, hooked arm around her waist and good hand in her hair, kissing the top of her head in desperation.

"I'm living a lie."

Her voice breaks, edges of the lost girl she will always be – when she looks up at him, he can read the silent plea in her eyes, the cry for help.

But the beans are gone and Jefferson's hat still torn and he burnt that damn sail centuries ago. He's stuck where he is, with no other option than to wait for a bloody miracle that will bring her back to him, that will allow him to cross the realms. It leaves him alone, knowing she wants him to fight his way back to her.

His heart breaks into a million of tiny pieces.

.

The Witch attacks the following day.

Finding her becomes more than a selfish thought.

.

"The dream." Her voice is soft, as if afraid to wake Henry up as he sleeps on the back seat of her car. "It was real, wasn't it?"

He remains silence for a couple of seconds, eyes lost in the Maine landscape as they make their way back to Storybrooke. Then he glances at her, carefully, and her eyes leave the road to look back – there is repressed curiosity in them, and something else he can't quite name.

"Aye. It was."

"I… I think I was aiming for Mary Margaret. You know, the whole sleeping curse thing."

"And you found me instead." A beat, and then, "sorry."

Her lips curl into the tiniest of grin as she shakes her head, until a chuckle escapes her mouth. It's barely more than a breathless little sound, not even passing as a laugh, but it's still here and it fascinates him in some ways.

"I guess Gold was right." She turns her head to look at him, smile growing bigger. "Magic being all about emotions."


	20. summertime

"When I said I was offering you my ship, I only meant that one time in Neverland."

His words drip with sarcasm and hang in the stifling summer air, as the three ladies lying on his deck clearly decide to ignore him. He wishes he could do the same with them, really, but his eyes are drawn back to them no matter how hard he tries to focus on some complex knots or on his captain logs.

It is what to be expected when three beautiful women use your ship as their personal sunbathing place.

He knows it has to be his Swan's idea, for nobody else would be bold enough, or maybe stupid enough, to invite Lady Crocodile on board. And yet here she is, small skirt and even smaller top, lying on her belly with a book between her fingers and a large floppy hat on her head. He mentally thanks her for being the most decently dressed of the lot – mostly because he doesn't feel uncomfortable looking at her, but also because that way he doesn't fear the Crocodile's wrath for ogling his almost-naked woman. Sadly, the same thing doesn't apply to the she-wolf, who decided today was a good day as any to prove 'decency' isn't part of her vocabulary. This realm's fashion still puzzles Killian from time to time, and this outfit in particular hits the jackpot, barely more than colourful undergarments. She got rid of what passes as a corset hours ago, offering him perfect view on her smooth golden back.

But it's Swan his eyes are always drawn to, wearing the same ridiculous outfit and lying on her back, hair fanning around her head. Her legs shift from time to time, sending the most indecent images to his mind, and all Killian wants is to toss the other two over board to have his way with her right there on the deck.

He doesn't, going back to his logs with a sigh and a roll of the eyes. He was a fearsome pirate once, his reputation preceding him in all the seven seas – he's only a puppet in that woman's hands now, letting her do as she wishes with him and his ship. Vixen woman and the grip she has on his heart.

As if she can feel him staring at him, Emma raises her head and smiles – it warms him more than the sun hanging high in the sky. He smiles back with a wink, tempted to join her and taste the marine salt on her lips.

That is, until two distinct screeches startle them all, and they watch as Eric jumps on deck with a boy under each arm – which in itself is quite impressive, as one of them happens to be twelve and almost as tall as his mother. The prince runs across the deck and throws them both overboard. Two loud splashing sounds follow, and then fits of giggles come from the sea; Eric jumps too only seconds later.

Killian and Emma stands up as one, and he watches her draping a thin, almost transparent, piece of fabric around her hips as she makes her way to him. They both fold their arms on the wooden railing to watch the scene unfolding in the water below them. Roland paddles around Eric like a little puppy, laughing until he swallows water, while Henry floats on his back nearby. Ariel suddenly appears from nowhere, grabbing him by the waist and, with a surprising strength, she holds him above the water and throws him a few feet away. When Henry's head appears again, his eyes are widen and his laugh loud, and it takes him mere seconds before splashing the mermaid. She disappears below water once again, tail sparkling with the sun, only to attack the boy again.

Emma laughs softly at their antics and, when Killian looks at her, she affectively bumps her hips against his. "Stop playing grumpy," she says with a smirk, "I know you're enjoying this."

A lazy smile curls his lips then – open book going both ways. He can't remember ever having a moment off since he met her, so today obviously stands out with its lazy mood and welcome peacefulness. Still, it says a lot that people feel so at ease around his ship, around _him_, like they have done it all their life, like it is the natural thing to do. They simply followed Emma's lead in accepting him as part of their little community, and he could easily get used to it too.

"I have to say," he replies, eyes shamelessly landing on her breasts, "it has its perks."

She scoffs and pushes him once again, with the shoulder this time, and Killian notices how she doesn't completely withdraw, slightly leaning against him. His smile grows bigger as he plants a noisy kiss on her cheek. "You two are so adorable it's disgusting," comes from Red behind them, but Killian doesn't care because of the promise of a midnight bath Emma whispers in his ear, mischievous grin on her lips before she decides now is as good a moment as ever to join her son in the water. Killian follows.

He doesn't even complain when, hours later, David arrives with the firm idea of having a party on the ship – with optional barbecue and beers – nor does he when Snow, Regina, Robin and the dwarves follow the prince. He can't remember the last time the Jolly was so loud and lively, and the two kids running around surely are a novelty, but he doesn't mind. Not with Emma in his arms, so carefree and laughing, kissing him softly ever so often. Not when, for the first time in three century, he feels like belonging again.


	21. scars ii

Her fingers dance against his body, feather-like touches on warm skin, muscles tensing when she reaches a particularly sensitive spot – ribs not that ticklish but his weakness lays behind his knees and in the crock of his elbows. Emma sits cross-legged next to him, sheet only pooling around her hips, leaving her bare-chested as she waits for the penny to drop, waits for awkwardness to fall on them. It doesn't, leaving only that blissful feeling Emma is so foreign with. Her brain finds the proper word for her – happiness.

"What about this one?" she asks softly, fingers trailing on a white line below his ribs.

Killian doesn't move, doesn't even need to open his eyes to know which one she is talking about, as the memories invade his mind and tumble out of his lips. "Ah, my first one. Apparently, teaching a ten year-old lad sword fighting on a ship when the wind is blowing strongly can only lead to a tragedy." His lips curl into a small grin, and Emma mirrors him almost instinctively. "Liam was an amazing captain, but a very reckless brother I'm afraid."

She scoffs at that, fingers travelling up his torso to brush his neck, tease his lip. He offers her a brief kiss before she dwells on the scar on his cheek, even if she already knows this one's story. She draws the bridge of his nose, follows the curve of his eyebrows, and she can almost feel his eye rolling behind closed lids at her antics. It is well into the night and they should probably be asleep by now, tired by their previous activities, but she simply can't stop touching him, exploring his body, unfolding his secrets. She's surprised by how comfortable, how natural, this intimacy settled between them – perhaps as it was always meant to be, and she welcomes the feeling where it would have scared her to no end only months ago. She welcomes him, body and soul, against her, tirelessly.

"This one?" A large gross-looking one close to his liver that looks like it was patched up hastily by someone who had never held a needle before – but then again, _pirates_.

Killian sighs, out of principle, but answers anyway, tells her of a looting gone wrong and the five men he lost that day. She watches as annoyance appears on his forehead at the memory, as if he still can't accept such a failure. But the tale ends in a surprising victory, even if the other captain managed to run him through with his sword. Killian spends more time talking about the money they made that day, diamonds and golden coins, than he does about the actual injury, and that is fine with her.

She knows better than to ask about the more gruesome scars – the several ones slashing his back she knows are from whipping, the missing hand, the ugly one on his calve. She instead asks about the small ones, asks for the pirate tales hidden behind them, for the adventures he likes to share. And he does, perfect storyteller that he is, drawing landscapes and terrible battles for her only with his words.

Her fingers comes to dance on a funny-looking scar above his hip, shaped as a Z, and she raises an eyebrow as Killian's whole body stills against her before he relaxes again – as if hoping she wouldn't notice, too bad for him she did. "What do we have here, captain?" she singsongs.

"Nothing." His reply is too harsh, too far, not fooling anyone and… is he _blushing_? A discrete shade of pink tints his cheeks, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, eye stubbornly staying close. She isn't sure if it is embarrassment or nervousness, perhaps a mixture of both, but it is enough to know she found the most interesting scars of all.

"Come on, Killian. What happened?"

He only shakes his head, left forearm coming up to hide his eyes – yep, definitely embarrassment. Emma waits a few more seconds before he sighs, deep and loud, like a man about to be executed on the market place. "It wasn't long after we landed in Neverland. I was still adjusting to the hook, drunk more often than not, and…" He uses his good hand to mime his point, curling his index finger in a quick back and forth movement against his skin.

It takes Emma a few seconds to catch up.

She bursts into laughter. So hard it turns into small hiccups and she lets herself fall to her side, legs still crossed, laughs buried against the pillow. Killian cracks an eye open, annoyed at first that she's not so subtlety mocking him, but a smile settles on his lips simply looking at her.

"Oi!" he tries to say, unable to pour more than amusement in his voice. Both arms dart around her waist then, pulling her to him and raising up on his elbows to look down at her. "I'm glad my misfortunes bring you such happiness, darling, but there is so much a man can take before being offended."

She doesn't find it in herself to care about his ego, not when her main problem is to bring some air to her lungs between two laughs. Her body was already sore but her ribs now scream in sweet agony, and it's like the gateways opened and are impossible to close again. She just laughs and laughs, and it feels so _good_ to let go after many months being the Saviour, being everyone's anchor.

"You're the worst pirate I know," she croaks, breathless, and feels more than see him rolling his eyes.

"Sorry to break it to you, lass, but I'm the _only_ pirate you know." And then, because it seems like the only way to have her quiet down, he kisses her – successfully, may she add, swallowing her giggles, turning them into a moan when his tongue tease her upper lip and his hand roam her body. With reverence and love in his voice, he whispers, "I never heard you laugh before. It suits you."


	22. snapshots on a pirate ship

He hears the screams and footsteps before they even reach the deck, hears the loud 'thump' of someone jumping on board before he has time to go out of his cabin, and Killian recognizes the yelled 'Henry!' without a glance at the woman – her voice, even angry, is always a song to his ears, one he'd recognize in the most dangerous storm.

"Henry! Henry, come back down immediately!"

Killian is welcomed by the sight of the lad climbing up the rigging, fairly quickly may he add, to sit on the topsail yard like he belongs here. Obviously sulking, and Killian's lips curl into a grin at that thought even when he shakes his head – of course the lad would use his ship to brood, far away from people and high enough that his family wouldn't reach him. Clever boy.

"What happened?" he asks softly, and Emma startles at the sound of his voice, looking at him with wide, scared, eyes.

"The fuck if I know. Everything was fine and the next second he slams the door behind him and I have to run after him all the way down here." She turns to the mast again, looking up, voice louder. "Henry! Come down before you break your neck!"

"Who cares?" comes from above even if they can't see him, hiding between the sails, "You're going to replace me anyway."

They share a look, both as surprised as the other by those words in Henry's mouth, and startled at the same time by something small and white falling at her feet. Killian frowns at the unknown object; Emma blanches as she leans down to pick it. He comes closer to look above her shoulder, two little pink lines seemingly mocking her. Killian is about to ask when she raises her head again, as if trying to catch a glance of her son between the sails and ropes.

"It's not mine! I swear, kid it's not. You're…" She stops, shakes her head again. "You're going to be a nephew, not a brother."

She only gets silence as an answer, and realisation dawns on Killian – shared secrets in a dark cave, a lifetime ago, promises of love and family. He swallows as he looks back at Emma, how scared and lost she seems to be in that moment. She didn't know either, and what a horrible way to learn the news. He wants to take her in his arms but doesn't, knows she's entirely focusing on Henry not to dwell on her own issues on the subject. She'll need him later, not now.

Still, he can't help but scoffs when Henry finally graces them with a perfectly cold "It still sucks!", Emma too busy glaring at him to care about her son's language.

"The apple never falls far from the tree, love," he says. It takes her a few seconds to understand, but she smiles, weakly, especially when he kisses her on the cheek in what he wants to be a reassuring gesture. "I'll talk to him."

Killian doesn't let her time to protest, already reaching for a nearby rope and, even if not as quickly and gracefully as the lad, he makes his way to the top, sits on the topsail yard next to him. Henry barely glances at him before he goes back to staring at the ocean in front of them, and they remain silent, only listening to the sound of seagulls and waves crashing against the boats. It could be peaceful, were it not for the boy's trouble mind, thoughts so loud Killian can almost hear them.

"I miss my dad," Henry finally whispers, so softly the wind almost eats his words. It's been a few months since Neal's murder by the hand of the Witch, the wound of his absence still open for many of them. "Regina has Robin, and Emma has you. But with my dad, it was only him and me, and… And now Gramps will be too busy being a dad too. He wasn't a dad with mum, you know, not really, but he will be now and…"

"And you are afraid he will not spend as much time with you as he used to."

He sees Henry nodding from the corner of his eyes, but forces himself not to turns his head – he knows a thing or two about the Swans and not wanting to look weak in front of others. So Killian pretends to ignore the tears, the breaking voice, as he keeps his eyes on the sea in front of him.

"Am I selfish?"

Killian chuckles. "Lad, I'm sure giving your heart to save magic makes you as selfless as you can get. Your mom – _moms_ love you and so do your grandparents. This is a complicated situation for all of us, but we will find a way to adapt."

"Yeah, I know. But it's so weird. In both my lives I was alone with my mum and now…"

"Bit crowded, innit?" Killian scoffs. "At least you'll remain the eldest child. Trust me, being the youngest is not that pleasurable."

He feels the boy staring at him for long minutes before he speaks again. "You're not half bad, I guess. I mean, I still don't want you to make babies with my mum, but she could do worse."

"Oi! Watch your tongue, boy. That high, accidents happen so fast." But he's grinning now, and so is Henry, sharing a meaningful glance before laughing. "Get down now, don't let your mother worry for too long."

It takes them longer to climb down the ropes that it did to go up but, as soon as he sets foot on deck again, Emma wraps Henry in a tight hug. They whisper to each other, so low and quickly that Killian can't make out the words, but then Emma smiles at him, and he reads in her eyes the thanks she doesn't say.

Killian smiles back.

…

"What the bloody hell did you do to my ship?"

All eyes fall on the newcomer as his voice rises above the sound of Granny's little bell. He makes his way to the booth occupied by the Charmings and purposefully stops in front of Snow, anger in his eyes as he stares at her. She doesn't miss a beat, standing up quickly despite her swelling belly, mustering all the royal charisma she usually tones down, daggers in her eyes as she stares back – Emma's snort can be heard all across the room as Killian takes a cautious step back. The queen may only reach his shoulder but he heard of her tales and adventures, knows of her reputation. He almost immediately regrets yelling at her.

Almost.

"I thought you agreed to offer us your ship for the occasion," she says sweetly, too sweetly, and he doesn't miss the edge in her voice, the casual threat hidden there. Never cross a pregnant woman, his brother used to say. Killian begins to understand why now. But, still.

"Aye. Doesn't mean you had to go out of your way and do… _this_!"

He vaguely gestures with his hand to what he believes to be the direction of the docks, but the motion falls flat when Snow takes another step closer to him and he moves back yet again. He knows there is fear in his eyes as he fights to keep some distance between them, knows it makes him weak, especially in front of an audience such as Granny's regulars. But Killian quite likes living, and something tells him she could kill him, with only her little finger, in her sleep, if she felt like it.

"I thought Eric was your friend?" she asks, still with that same tone that doesn't match her predatory behaviour.

"Aye" is his only reply, because he can't very well say otherwise. The Prince and he became somewhat friends along the way, in that 'let's fish and talk about boats together' fashion that suits Killian – it's simple and easy, far from the complex relationship he has with David and the glares half the town still throws at him once in a while.

"So who are you to deny his fiancée the wedding of her dreams?" He opens his mouth to reply, to say he is quite fine with letting the ceremony happen on the Jolly Roger, but what she did to it is another story entirely. She doesn't let him, thought, her voice lower and more serious – for his ears only, despite the crowd around them. "My family may have accepted you, but don't believe it is that easy. We are still royals, one day we'll be back to our kingdom, and things will change. You can pretend you're only Emma's boyfriend while we're still in Storybrooke, but over there you'll be the princess's suitor. So if you want things to go as smoothly as possible, I suggest you think about the politics here, Jones, and be friends with more than my husband. Ariel wants garlands and lanterns on your ship for the ceremony? We give her the damn garlands and lanterns!"

Speechless and eyes wide, he can only nod in reply, and Snow finishes with a simple 'good' before going back to her seat next to her husband. Killian remains still, standing in the middle of the room for a few seconds before shaking his head and leaving the dinner.

Emma runs after him only seconds later, both her arms wrapping around his. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," he replies, stopping in his track to look at him. Her curiosity equals his confusion, but he already feels better with the way she smiles at him. "I believe your mother just gave us her blessing… in some really frightful manner."

…

The sound of wood on wood and little laughs breaks the usual silence of the sea, going along with unsteady footsteps and the occasional command given by the bandit. Killian sits on the deck with his back to the railing, playing with Emma's hair as she turned his lap into a pillow and peacefully reads a book. His eyes carefully follow the fight unfolding in front of him, the two children waving wooden swords at Robin. If Henry knows the rudiments of swordplay, Roland is fairly new to it and his little arms barely carry the sword, let alone allow him to block his father's blows. Still, he's as stubborn as the rest of his family, doing his best, and Killian can already see the mighty warrior he will soon become – surely he will have his place in the King's guard next to Henry in a near future. Not that Killian would ever say that aloud in front of Emma or Regina, mind you.

"Go on, boys! Teach the damn fox a lesson!"

Emma starts chuckling as Robin stops in his tracks, mouth opened in surprise at the low blow – it gives Henry the perfect opening to hit him in the ribs, and he barely manages to dodge it. "Children, here's the lesson of the day: don't listen to men who think moustache and long curly hair are fashionable."

Henry is losing it by now, sword and body trembling with his laughter, but Roland surprisingly manages to remain calm as he keeps fighting his father – Killian thinks it's more about not understanding the joke than it is about it not being funny.

"Showing you those movies may be the best idea David ever had," Emma casually says, eyes not even leaving her book, and Killian can only laugh in reply – indeed it was, more entertaining than he would have thought.

They fight for another half hour, and then Henry plops down next to him, smelling of sweat and exhaustion as he leans against Killian's shoulder to catch his breath. The gesture doesn't even surprise him – too many hours spent together, too many shared moments, shared secrets, for them to be uncomfortable around each other. Killian pats the boy's leg with the side of his hook, and receives an exhausted grin in reply.

…

"Oh my god, David! Look!"

Even if she only calls after her husband, all heads turn to Snow as she kneels down with an expression on her face that can only be described as _gleeful_. In front of her, little arms stretched out to find some balance, baby Eva takes a few tentative steps – her first.

And of course, all people on deck, from the she-wolf to Robin, stop whatever they're doing to stare at the little princess, completely discarding the barbecue they were having on the Jolly Roger. Eva falls in her mother's arms with an adorable little laugh before David kneels next to them, and the girl willingly accepts to walk again, for her father this time. Instinctively, Killian's fingers tighten their grip around Emma's hip, her hand carefully placed on his chest as if bracing herself – it's still hard, but she faces each new blow like the tough lass he knows her to be.

"Glad to see at least one Charming has sea legs!" Killian says loudly to be heard across the deck, and David stops kissing his daughter's face long enough to glare at him.

As if on cue, and much to Killian's delight and his grandparents' annoyance, Henry adds, "Eva, pirate queen of the seven seas!"

They high-five with loud laughs, and he doesn't need to look down to know Emma is rolling her eyes with a little smile – as much as she tries to hide it, she's grateful for how well her men get along, even if it means mischief and childish jokes. And he likes it too, that special bond between them, even deeper than the one he had with Baelfire a long time ago. And even if the lad always makes a point of reminding him he will never quite be his father – he respects that, even during their nastiest arguments, respects the place Neal had in Henry's life – it is as close as one can get.

"You know," he whispers to Emma's ear with a little nod toward Henry, as everyone go back to their food and discussions and Roland starts playing with Eva, "Even if we never have wee ones, I'm more than fine with the lad."

"Oh," she only says at first, disentangling herself from his arms. She grins at him. "Well, that's awkward."

Not waiting for his reaction, she moves closer to the barbecue, with a wink for him above her shoulder – it clicks then.

"Emma – are you – come back – _Swan_!"

…

When you live for three long centuries and are in love with the so-called Saviour, nothing fazes you, not really. He's seen and done too much, both in this realm and the other.

Still, finding Henry on top of the mast, his usual sulking place, as he snogs Jefferson's daughter… Aye, that one is a bit of a surprise.

…

By some miracle and no small dose of magic, Anton manages to grow beans again and it doesn't take long before the whole town whispers of going back home at last. The notion is lost on him. For so long, home was the Jolly and months at the sea, only him and the waves, the wind. Now he basks in the saying, _home is where the heart is,_ eyes always looking for her in the crowd, heart beating to the sound of her name. He knows her place isn't in her parents' kingdom, knows she will be torn about what to do – still, he will follow her everywhere, will keep his family in Storybrooke if she wishes it to stay here, will help her settle in the new realm if she wants to follow her family.

Soon, the Jolly's cabins are full of people and boxes, food and clothes and everything they'll need to survive in the Enchanted Forest, and he finds himself travelling between realms every day to transport people – who would have thought they were so many in such a little town. Emma is yet to make her mind, and he comes back to her, to _them_, every night.

"I became a pirate to stop following a king's orders and here I am, doing it all over again."

He cradles his sleeping daughter to his chest as he's lying down in the couch, Emma doing one thing or another in the kitchen while Henry is packing upstairs – he's to come aboard tomorrow and spend the summer holiday at Regina's castle. Killian isn't exactly sure he'll be willing to come back after two months in his girlfriend's realm, but they all pretend otherwise for the time being.

"Stop complaining, you enjoy the attention."

He scoffs, craning his name to look at her above the couch's armrest. "You father wants to rename her. The _Jewel of the Realms_, he says. Plural. What a fantastic sense of humour."

Of course, because she shares her sense of humour with David, Emma laughs as she comes closer to ruffle his hair and kiss him. "She was always meant for more glorious purposes than stealing and mindless drinking. You'd do her a favour by renaming her."

Killian is about to complain yet again when Henry tumbles down the stairs in all his royal glory – teenage years making him lanky and awkward at best. "Hey, mum, where do I put your suitcases?"

Emma smiles sweetly at him as his eyes widen. "Oh by the way…"


End file.
